#and this is a public story so it's out available in the wild

[somedaytakethetime]

Well, well, well.... look who it is...

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

Read Palestine Week

🇵🇸 Good morning, my beautiful bookish bats. Can I start by saying a huge THANK YOU for sharing my Queer Palestinian Book post? Seriously, thank you so much. Let's keep that momentum by observing Read Palestine Week (Nov 29 - Dec 5). I've compiled a list of books to help you, along with a list of upcoming events and resources you can use this week and beyond.

🇵🇸 A collective of over 350 global publishers and individuals issued a public statement expressing solidarity with the Palestinian people. Publishers for Palestine have organized an international #ReadPalestine week, starting today (International Day of Solidarity with the Palestinian People).

🇵🇸 These publishers have made many resources and e-books available for free (with more to come). A few include award-winning fiction and poetry by Palestinian and Palestinian diaspora authors. You'll also find non-fiction books about Palestinian history, politics, arts, culture, and “books about organizing, resistance, and solidarity for a Free Palestine.” You can visit publishersforpalestine.org to download some of the books they have available.

POETRY 🌙 Things You May Find Hidden in My Ear by Mosab Abu Toha 🌙 Affiliation by Mira Mattar 🌙 Enemy of the Sun by Samih al-Qasim 🌙 I Saw Ramallah by Mourid Barghouti 🌙 A Mountainous Journey by Fadwa Tuqan 🌙 So What by Taha Muhammad Ali 🌙 The Butterfly’s Burden by Mahmoud Darwish 🌙 To All the Yellow Flowers by Raya Tuffaha

FICTION 🌙 Gate of the Sun by Elias Khoury 🌙 Speak, Bird, Speak Again: Palestinian Arab Folktales 🌙 Men in the Sun by Ghassan Kanafani 🌙 Morning in Jenin by Susan Abulhawa 🌙 Gaze Writes Back by Young Writers in Gaze 🌙 Palestine +100:Stories from a Century after the Nakba 🌙 Wild Thorns by Sahar Khalifeh 🌙 Out of Time by Samira Azzam

🌙 The Skin and Its Girl by Sarah Cypher 🌙 You Exist Too Much by Zaina Arafat 🌙 A Woman is No Man by Etaf Rum 🌙 Salt Houses by Hala Alyan 🌙 A Map of Home by Randa Jarrar 🌙 Against the Loveless World by Susan Abulhawa 🌙 Minor Detail by Adania Shibli 🌙 The Woman From Tantoura by Radwa Ashour

NON-FICTION 🌙 Blood Brothers by Elias Chacour 🌙 Strangers in the House: Coming of Age in Occupied Palestine by Raja Shehadeh 🌙 Palestinian Art, 1850–2005 by Kamal Boullata 🌙 Palestine by Joe Sacco 🌙 The Hour of Sunlight: One Palestinian’s Journey from Prisoner to Peacemaker by Sami Al Jundi & Jen Marlowe 🌙 Palestine: A Four Thousand Year History by Nur Masalha 🌙 Justice for Some: Law and the Question of Palestine by Noura Erakat 🌙 The Words of My Father: Love and Pain in Palestine by Yousef Khalil Bashir

🌙 Traditional Palestinian Costume: Origins and Evolution by Hanan Karaman Munayyer 🌙 Mountain against the Sea: Essays on Palestinian Society and Culture by Salim Tamari 🌙 This Is Not a Border: Reportage and Reflection from the Palestine Festival of Literature 🌙 We Could Have Been Friends, My Father and I: A Palestinian Memoir, by Raja Shehadeh 🌙 Les échos de la mémoire. Une enfance palestinienne à Jérusalem, by Issa J. Boullata 🌙 A Party For Thaera: Palestinian Women Write Life In Prison 🌙 Light in Gaza: Writings Born of Fire, 🌙 Voices of the Nakba: A Living History of Palestine

[electrospherevaults]

'ello everyone, today's a special day!

Back one year ago, and merely two weeks after I was done with the mandatory army conscription, I kept thinking about Defiler. This thinking led to some ideas on how to expand the world, especially coming off the heels of whatever the fuck being in the greek army was, and with friends explaining how much they loved the world and especially the faction of the Maidens of Wrethella, a warrior army in service of the King, I soon had a concept I wanted to explore.

Thusly, on August 26, 2023, at exactly four minutes past midnight, Maiden, the sequel novel to Defiler, was born.

HAPPY MAIDENVERSARY

Fair Lady Analussa of the Maidens of Wrethella, protagonist of MAIDEN Artwork courtesy @meer-draws

It's been a wild time since then, exactly one year ago now! Lots of things changed, lots of things improved; I know my characters better than ever before and the world they inhibit. Analussa grew from a simple character meant to inform the reader about Lionelli and her goals into her own fully realized character; her squad grew to include six more wonderful and superb lady maidens that are as badass as they are sweet. And at a current 97.5k words and 258 pages, I am inching closer to achieving the goal of finishing the sequel! It is still quite a long way to go - there are 41 planned chapters for it after all, and it would not be a Defiler sequel had it not posses some ambition of its own in what it is trying to do - but writing the story of Analussa and her squad as they survive the war-torn world of Tessereich has been a cathartic and healing experience for me; one that I hope I will get to share with you all soon enough)

Alongside the sequel, I have been continuously building the world of Defiler; its past, its present, its future, and how the cast of characters fit in the whole thing. Several of the short stories I have been writing earlier this year take place in the Tomorrow Galaxy where Defiler and Maiden takes place. Each one has been instrumental in figuring the world out, how it ticks, how it works, what it has to say. Most of all, this whole endeavour has helped me figure out Mallik the most, the protagonist of the first novel. She is especially dear to me - I wouldn't have so many artworks of her commissioned had she not been so instrumental in my growth as a writer and as a person - and it would be a severe understatement to say that her perseverance aided me to keep my chin up and continue unabated by difficulties and plights life threw my way. One day, I hope I can tell her story properly.

So what is next for the denizens of Tomorrow? Well, for now, my goal is to finish Maiden. Next goal is the to fix the draft of Defiler; that one will remain private unfortunately as I seek to get it published. I hope it will be fun to come back here and contrast the finished product with the first public draft made during its NaNoWriMo challenge phase. I also want to see if I can depict Defiler and the rest of the stories taking place in the Tomorrow galaxy in other mediums, such as animation and videogames - but that's a plan for later in the year, depending on how things pan out.

In any case, I want to thank y'all for reading, and I especially want to thank my friends, (like Babka, Beth, Gree, September, Sapphire, Chloe, Balkon, Aenore, Steph and Mirnos), for being instrumental in guiding me and believing in me throughout the way; from finishing Defiler, to reading it and critiquing it, and now traversing alongside me this wild new wider galaxy!

Thank you all kindly, and I promise you more news about Maiden in the coming months :D

In the meantime, you can read the first draft of the first novel, available for free, on here. (Analussa does appear in it, and her role, whilst small, is still quite important!)

[shunrehihosumedha]

नमस्ते और स्वागत है आपका मेरे ब्लॉग मेह

मेरा नाम Sumedha Chatterjee है 💟

I am a geographer who specialises on the domain of Oceanography and Climatology

I am currently pursuing my masters in science degree from the university of Jamia Millia Islamia. I did my graduation from the Indraprastha College for Women under the esteemed university of Delhi.

I like creating stories and poetries of my vivid imagination that I try to explain as evenly as I can.

I love Murakami, Franz Kafka, and Robert Greenee a lot. My favourite books are The Ballad of the Songbirds and the Snake, 1Q84, Kafka on the Shore, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? And so many more.

I love the entire franchise of Dune by Frank Herbert and believes that The Butlerian Jihad by Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson is one of those books that everyone in the 21st century should read. I envy both the saga of Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings.

I’m not picky when it comes to music but I’m still protective about my genres (Yk what I mean) also follow me on Spotify. Link is on the description.

Here’s an example though hehe

আমি বাঙালি তার জন্য, I have delved into the literary history of the great Kobi Rabindranath Tagore and laureates such as Sarat Chandan Chatterjee, Bankim Chandra Chatterjee, Narayan Ganguly, Tarashankar Banerjee, Satyajit Ray, Sukumar Roy and so many that the list will never end.

I hold a diploma degree in kathak and Odiya classical dance as well as 1st class certification of Rabindranath sangeet.

I envy survival tactics as I have been on several camping expedition since I was 7 years old. I have 10 years of experience as a camper into the wilderness and 2 years of experience as a co-guide with diverse knowledge of rare flora and fauna. I know how to make a shelter out of a polythene, some ropes and tree branches and can lit fire with the basic tinder and kindles available on the wild.

My other Tumblr account for shitposting is @midmaysunray

I aspire to be a researcher in my domain someday but also want to see a novel/poetry book of my own on the public shelves envied by many others.

[sneasedtomeetyou]

At least all of you appreciate me! Rather than replying with the same story to each of you, I will simply recount it here if that's quite alright!

So these past few years regulations have been contested in regards to rare pokemon. With the relatively recent increased visibility of pokemon native to regions such as Hisui, there's been a push to include them in tournament play. Keep in mind that obtaining these pokemon is not easy and in many cases heavily restricted. There are groups that breed pokemon like Hisuian growlithe, but they're typically bred for working and not for battling. They aren't available in high numbers, and they aren't as well known about by the average trainer, making them often expensive and high maintenance. Not to mention, the rarity of this pokemon means knowledge on how to counter them in modern battling is limited at best. It's the ultimate wild card.

Allowing them in tournament play is still considered a controversial decision by many. Ultimately they've been allowed as many other extremely rare pokemon have been permitted in high level tournaments for decades. Another controversial instance of this was the Lily of the Valley Conference in 2010 that was won by a trainer with a Latios and a Darkrai! Darkrai was especially controversial as it is part of a classification of pokemon so rare that it's typically banned from tournament battling. It's nothing new, as unfair as it may sound.

Multiple finalists this year had obtained rare pokemon that the general public knows little to nothing about. It drew in some of the largest crowds we've seen for a tournament hosted in Alola. Regardless of their opinions on the entire thing, it seemed pretty clear that people were curious about how these pokemon battled.

Sneasler was a sought after pokemon for these sorts of tournaments, actually. Their high speed and devastating dire claw attacks would be extremely useful, but the breeding program is still too early on for me to feel comfortable giving many of these out. While I've considered gifting a Sneasel to a well respected Sinnohan Frontier Brain, selling them is never going to be on the table for me. Though it's been pretty clear by the existence of pokemon like Cheddar that... something is going on. Anyways. Focusing on the things we know for a fact.

Another controversy this year if you can believe it is one of the quarter finalists was also disqualified for unsportsmanlike behavior after winning a match. He performed some... questionable gestures on broadcast television and his match was disqualified several hours after the fact. His opponent then had to be notified that despite losing he will, in fact, be moving on. This isn't how this sort of thing is usually resolved, so the decision stunned a lot of people. This meant that someone who lost the quarter finals was moving to the semifinals. His team that included a strange seemingly... robotic tyranitar people questioned the legitimacy of from the very start considering it looked more like a movie prop than a living breathing pokemon, then won the semifinals. Then, in an extremely close best of three match managed to win the entire tournament.

And despite how fascinating all of this is including the fact they had to prove this pokemon was actually alive and not just a robot someone was attempting to pass off as a pokemon, Amy was not in the mood to hear it as I was looking further into the details. New information regarding these teams and the disqualification have been coming out more or less by the hour, so I've been following it closely.

[timeagainreviews]

Bombastically Subtle: The Giggle

In my review for “The Power of the Doctor,” I talked about the power of lowering expectations. It’s good to approach Doctor Who with an open mind as it leaves room for being pleasantly surprised. One major truth for the Doctor Who fandom is how often we play ourselves with our expectations. We get it in our heads how something is supposed to be and we get mad that it isn’t that thing. That being said, there is a rational standard to be expected. Before “Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS,” aired, I had a small list of things I wanted to see in the TARDIS. Things which if included, would mean they didn’t waste the opportunity. I wanted to see a big gothic library. Check! I wanted to see the swimming pool. Check! I wanted to see a room that looked like the outdoors. Check! I wanted to see an M.C. Escher room like from “Castrovalva.” Well, three out of four ain’t bad. Speaking of three out of four, remember “The Celestial Toymaker”?

Of the 97 missing episodes of Doctor Who, three are from the four-part story “The Celestial Toymaker.” It would be four out of four, but the last episode “The Final Test,” was eventually returned to BBC in 1984 but wasn’t made available to the public until 1991. For years, all fans had left of this story was the Target novelisation and their imaginations. You could argue that “The Celestial Toymaker,” is a story which has benefitted from going missing. It enjoys a sort of mythic status no effects budget from 1966 could ever live up to. So when it was revealed that the Toymaker would be returning to Doctor Who in “The Giggle,”  I saw it as an opportunity for them to finally give us the episode that has existed in our collective imagination for decades. 

It makes sense that it took 57 years to return the Toymaker to the screen. It’s easier to write “The Doctor sees himself in puppet form,” than it is to film. Words may be the cheapest way to put big images in our heads, but we’ve got Disney money now. Doctor Who can finally afford to give the Toymaker the visuals he deserves. And the episode delivers on those visuals. It’s as mindbending and dazzling as you would expect for a trickster from the Island of Misfit Toys. Not only are the visuals impressive, but they’re also creative. That last bit is something people often forget. Style is everything. The Toymaker’s old-timey shop is beautiful and this design aesthetic carries over to visuals he produces. He feels appropriately out of time and timeless. I wanted to say this upfront because, honestly, there is so much more going on than stellar visuals.

One complaint I’ve seen consistently about the 60th Anniversary Specials is that they often seem like pale imitations of what came before. Just last week I compared “Wild Blue Yonder,” unfavourably to “Midnight,” but I had to concede to the fact that these specials are a bit of an homage to all of Doctor Who. Of course, there are similarities, it’s a celebration of 60 years of Doctor Who. That would be like complaining that they put a Santa robot in a Christmas episode. “The Star Beast,” harkens to alien invasion stories and evil dictators. “Wild Blue Yonder,” is like our “Midnight,” “The Edge of Destruction,” and “Heaven Sent,” type stories with a healthy dose of body horror. And “The Giggle,” is a bit more like “The Ultimate Foe,” “The Mind Robber,” or even “The Sound of Drums.” If these episodes are, as Russell T Davies said, the finale to the 2005 series, they’re a fitting send-off. 

Much like “Wild Blue Yonder,” I found the introduction to “The Giggle,” to be the weakest section of the episode. Something about both scenes in both episodes had unnatural dialogue and poor pacing. It feels almost as though the episodes are both trying their best to get going as fast as possible. It makes sense when you consider that a major plot point is that the Doctor doesn’t take time to rest. Also, there is a lot of information to be imparted within three episodes. Regardless, I got a little nervous by Neil Patrick Harris’ over-the-top German accent bouncing off of Charlie de Melo’s confused face. But when Banerjee says to the Toymaker that his accent was slipping, I relaxed a bit. It’s like when Dorothy Vallens tears her bad wig off in “Blue Velvet.” You think “Oh thank god, they realise it’s unrealistic.”

I love the inclusion of John Logie Baird into the story. Not only is he from Scotland (my newfound home), but an oft-overlooked person in history. Using the inventor of television to celebrate one of Britain’s oldest TV shows feels appropriate. RTD said in an interview that he started reading up on Baird while working on his miniseries “Nolly.” Initially, the only villain of the story was going to be the puppet, Stooky Bill, but Davies realised that might look a bit naff so he considered who might be the puppet master and the Toymaker was a natural fit. I love hearing how writers form stories from seemingly disparate elements. Had RTD never written “Nolly,” we would have probably not seen the Toymaker, which would have been a different 60th anniversary altogether.

Thanks to things like “Doctor Who Unleashed,” and the commentaries, we’ve been given some intriguing insights into Davies’ creative process. Initially, he worried that the Toymaker was too ancient a character for modern fans to care about, but that never stopped Steven Moffat from introducing a new generation of fans to the Great Intelligence. He also took time to discuss the Toymaker’s racist roots. While I’ve never once thought of the Toymaker as yellowface, I can see how their use of the word “celestial,” and his Chinese silks might send the wrong message in this day and age. It’s funny then that that is also the reason he decided to give the Toymaker various accents, as a call back to his problematic nature. He is a villain after all. But is it really racist to make fun of Germans? I prefer my friend Taryn’s explanation that the Toymaker changes his voice often because the Doctor originally beat him by impersonating his voice.

With London at each other’s throats, it’s easy to see why UNIT would be relieved to see the Doctor. I half-expected Kate Stewart to slap the Doctor, but instead, she greets him with a hug. In the words of the Doctor- “This is new!” Now it’s been said before, so I’ll just agree that yes UNIT HQ looks like Avengers tower. We’ve already established that RTD is taking a page out of the Marvel playbook, no need to belabour the point. Back at UNIT, the Doctor is reintroduced to some familiar faces. We see Kate Stewart, Shirley Bingham, but most excitingly, Mel Bush. That’s right, I said “excitingly,” and “Mel Bush,” in the same sentence. I once met Bonnie Langford at a convention and I feel like she could tell I was lying when I said “I liked you in Doctor Who,” because in all honesty, I didn’t. But after rewatching “Paradise Towers,” and admiring Mel’s individuality in the face of the mocking Kangs, I thought “Maybe Hughie Lewis was right, it is hip to be square.” Furthermore, I knew RTD would do her right.

Something I’ve really enjoyed about the RTD2 era is how he has somewhat elevated the role of companion. Too often in the show's history have the companions been forced into the role of audience surrogate, fit only to ask the Doctor what’s happening and to get captured. Both Mel and Donna are rocking shit at their computer consoles. Finally, a writer who remembered Mel is a computer wiz, go figure! And of course, the best temp in Chiswick is leading the attack. But beyond being useful, he’s allowing the companions to have actual depth of emotion. Mel’s life doesn’t feel like a sad sack existence that landed her in a support group. She had a fun life with Glitz. Furthermore, it was a life she chose. There’s no baggage between her and the Doctor, just delight.

The Doctor learns that it’s not just Londoners losing their minds, but the whole world. Even our beloved Trinity Wells has fallen prone to the vitriol on her Fox News-esque talk show. The source of this anger is an arpeggiated laugh over the image of the first-ever televised face- Stooky Bill. This of course is the aspect that reminded me most of the “Utopia/The Sound of Drums/Last of the Time Lords” three-parter. Like the rhythmic heartbeats of a Time Lord, this signal has laid dormant on every television, computer, tablet, and phone screen for years. This is, of course, Russell T Davies’ comment on the current state of discourse on the internet these days. And in another way, it’s his comment on the state of the Doctor Who fandom lately. He seems well aware of the divisions in the fandom and it’s nice to see that aside from the sexists, racists, and transphobes, he’s interested in bringing the rest of us together, but I digress.

In what may be one of the most effective scenes in the whole episode, Kate Stewart removes her Zeedex, a device invented by the mysterious Vlinx to inhibit the effects of the giggle signal. After removing it, we watch in horror as our beloved Kate Stewart devolves into a paranoid ableist bigot who hates gingers. Jemma Redgrave gives a chilling and vulnerable performance that was hard to watch. I found myself choked up seeing her in this state, and watching her profusely apologise to Shirley afterwards was heartbreaking. That said, I loved Shirley’s reaction. It’s nice that RTD in his desire to portray marginalised people hasn’t forgotten that we’re not all helpless. Shirley understood the situation and she’s strong enough to take it. Even more, I loved it when the Doctor snapped at her with a bit of sass. It’s good to see Davies treating this new diverse cast as flawed and vulnerable people. He’s not ticking boxes, these are real characters.

The Doctor begins to get an inkling as to who they are dealing with. The words “puppetmaster,” and “toying with,” begin entering his vocabulary. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as something deep inside him is screaming “Toymaker!” Having correlated the mass outbreak of violence with the launch of a South Korean satellite, Kate gets permission from the Doctor to take out the satellite with a Galvanic beam. I loved how it was the Doctor’s job as President of the World to give the command. He must have hated that. Eagle-eyed viewers will remember galvanic radiation as the poisonous light from the planet Midnight. Once again RTD calls back to one of his best stories. Meanwhile, Donna hits Kate up for a job at UNIT netting her six figures a year and five weeks of holiday. Go Donna! While all of this is happening, Shirley has traced the original Stooky Bill broadcast back to SoHo in 1925. The Doctor and Donna pile into the TARDIS to follow this lead which takes them to the Toymaker’s shopfront.

What I love most about including the Toymaker is that it has introduced magic into Doctor Who. The ‘70s gave us many occult storylines, but even then most of them could be explained with science. Seldom does Doctor Who give us a storyline where the Doctor is unable to explain what happened. We got the Beast in “The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit,” and the haunted house from “The Chimes of Midnight,” but for the most part, magic has never been real in Doctor Who. Not even the Carrionites used actual magic in their word-based witchcraft. Perhaps RTD’s time working on “Wizards vs Aliens,” rubbed off on him. Either way, it’s an interesting way to breathe new life into Doctor Who. The Doctor hasn’t really ever dealt with actual magic and I am curious how it will affect him moving forward. Superman is one of the most powerful beings in DC comics, but along with Kryptonite, one of his greatest weaknesses is magic. Magic plays by its own rules.

As a being governed by magic, the Toymaker is bound to a set of rules. The Toymaker takes pride in his rules, so much so that when Donna implies he’ll cheat the Doctor, he looks genuinely offended. There is clear animosity between the Doctor and the Toymaker that is palpable throughout the story. The Doctor even antagonises the Toymaker by implying he is a slave to his rules of play. The Toymaker isn’t just interested in revenge, he wants to humiliate the Doctor in front of the person who loves him the most- Donna. He attempts to weaken her faith in the Doctor by illustrating the Doctor’s past failures to save his companions while highlighting the ways the Doctor justifies his failures. The one thing the Toymaker didn’t consider is that Donna knows this about the Doctor already. He can’t break her faith in a man she regularly puts in his place. This woman once called the Doctor “a thin line of alien nothing.” Do your worst, Toymaker, because Donna has already said it and more.

The real secret behind this episode’s success is in its subtlety, which is hard to imagine in a story where a man turns bullets into flowers while singing to the Spice Girls. Despite all of the big colourful chaos, the most effective moves are quiet. I mentioned in my review for “The Star Beast,” that Davies was more successful in his moments of subtlety than his big declarations, and here is no different. The Doctor and Toymaker play a simple card game. The Doctor loses this game but wins on the technicality that they are now even. There’s no way the Toymaker can allow for a tie, a winner must be decided. You can’t beat the Toymaker with bullets or Osterhagen Keys, but rather by playing his games. Underneath all of the expensive CGI and set design, it ultimately comes down to a game of wits. This is classic Doctor Who, “The Brain of Morbius” stuff.

That art of subtlety had seemed all but gone with the Chibnall era. I grew tired of the Doctor constantly knowing everything and never being out of her depth. It’s good to see the Doctor still has to solve things. It’s why I’ve enjoyed seeing Tennant skulking around being a detective. It’s why people always harp on about “show don’t tell.” It’s better to see how the Doctor slowly pieces things together than for the Doctor to tell us upfront. Knowing everything is not what makes the Doctor clever. Knowing nothing, having no plan, and discovering the path is far more gratifying to see. Ultimately it comes down to Davies having a better understanding of the Doctor as a character. The Doctor is flawed, vain, aloof, and prone to getting frazzled. Its his ability to soldier on that makes him special. The Doctor’s strength isn’t in knowing everything, it’s in knowing his limitations. You can’t learn if you have everything figured out.

While we’re on the subject of subtle changes and Chibnall, it might be worth it to discuss how this story addresses “The Timeless Children,” because I’ve seen zero people talking about it. When the Toymaker flashes the gold tooth in his disturbingly toothy grin, he tells us a little more than the Master’s fate. In a blink-and-you-miss-it line, he implies that he turned the Doctor’s timeline into a jigsaw puzzle. It’s such a subtle moment that it’s not surprising that most people missed it. But think for a moment- what recently turned the Doctor’s life into a convoluted mess? The Timeless Child storyline, of course. I love this line because it does two things. First, it allows the people who enjoyed “The Timeless Children,” to continue on in their enjoyment. Secondly, it allows those of us who disliked it to compartmentalise the storyline into something that finally made sense as a plan devised by a villain. If you ever wondered why the Timeless Child storyline was necessary, you now have a canon explanation- it wasn’t.

Unable to foresee the Doctor’s clever escape clause or Donna’s ability to bash a doll against a wall (love love loved that by the way), the Toymaker decides to change the playing field from his Toyshop to UNIT HQ. Neil Patrick Harris seems to be having the time of his life terrorising UNIT to the tune of “Spice Up Your Life.” At first you think “Oh how funny,” and then you see Mel take a tumble and you think “Woah man, that’s an elderly woman there!” As he gleefully turns two soldiers into a pile of colourful plastic balls, the act is no longer cute. The Toymaker is a horrifying monster with no conscience. Our lives are playthings in his hands and he must be stopped.

This scene illustrates beautifully the exciting possibilities of a magical Whoniverse. The Brigadier once famously quipped “You know, just once I'd like to meet an alien menace that wasn't immune to bullets.” Turning bullets into flowers certainly fits the bill, but it begs an even deeper question- how do you fight an enemy that is immune to science? Kate Stewart took great pride in reforming UNIT to be more science-based, but magic doesn’t care about facts. Magic rewrites reality. The Doctor tries to comfort Shirley by explaining that the Toymaker can change atomic matter with his mind, but admits that even that is a poor explanation. Both the Doctor and UNIT are in new territory. It really ups the danger and makes you wonder how the Doctor will adapt. I said in my review of “The Star Beast,” that the sonic screwdriver was like a magic wand and perhaps it may need to become one! Sorry, War Doctor, it’s no longer a scientific instrument.

Exasperated by the Doctor’s trickery, the Toymaker shocks by shooting the Doctor with the Galvanic beam, stating that he wants to play the final game with the next Doctor. This jumpstarts a new regeneration, but as we all know, it’s not your usual regeneration. But before we get into that, I would like to discuss the moments leading up to that infamous moment because some interesting stuff happens. Having Donna and Mel join the Doctor’s side was exciting because we’re so used to the Doctor regenerating in a blast of energy powerful enough to destroy TARDIS consoles and Dalek ships. It’s easy to forget that the Doctor used to regenerate surrounded by his friends. So there the Doctor stands, surrounded by what the Eleventh Doctor would refer to as “the ultimate ginge.” I think we all sort of expected to hear the Doctor say something like “I don’t want to go,” or “I’m ready to go,” and I applaud RTD for avoiding both in favour of a far more appropriate “Allons y!”

Now, if you’re a terminally online Doctor Who fan like myself, you’d probably read the leak about bi-generation and were therefore not surprised. I kind of regret it because it turned out to be true. I am so used to “leaks,” and “fan theories,” being wrong that I expected the same here. However, part of me is somewhat glad I read the leak as it gave me time to think about the concept. I had seen people immediately hate the idea, so I think a part of me decided to be fair. After all, if you read just the synopsis of any story, divorced of all context and tone, you might also say “That sounds terrible.” In context to the rest of this episode, and what came after, bi-geneation was an absolute joy to behold.

Usually when we get a regeneration, we get maybe 20 seconds to enjoy the new Doctor and then have to wait a few months to see more. But here we not only get to meet Ncuti Gatwa’s Fifteenth Doctor, we get to see him in a mult-Doctor episode with David Tennant! What a treat. Immediately I took to Ncuti as he tells the Fourteenth Doctor to push and then admits he doesn’t know that it will work. This is all new to him as well. I said above that I like when the Doctor is slightly out of his depth, and this is no exception. I will say it’s very lucky for both of them that one of them got the pants and the other got the trousers. Can you imagine that scene playing out with one of them having a Winnie the Pooh thing going on? However, they did miss a chance to call back to the Twelfth Doctor by not giving the Doctor question mark underpants. Oh well.

After watching this episode I asked Taryn what she thought about the Fifteenth Doctor and she told me that she felt it was too early to tell. I then pointed out that while we don’t fully know his personality yet, there was no point during which he didn’t feel like the Doctor. Ncuti takes to the role like a fish in water. He is the Doctor and I cannot wait to learn more about his personality. But first, we have a Toymaker to banish. Now I’ve seen people complain that a game of catch was a disappointing climax to the story, but I disagree. Both of the games the Doctor plays against the Toymaker are simple. Which card face is higher? Can you catch the ball without dropping? It’s nice to have a simple solution against a backdrop of heavy special effects. There are some comical moments such as when Fifteen throws the ball as if he’s trying to win against Fourteen. Also just seeing Ncuti run around in his pants was very funny. Ultimately it is the Toymaker who drops the ball. The Fourteenth Doctor takes his prize in the form of banishing him from our universe forever, but not before the Toymaker warns of his minions spilling into our reality. I was reminded of the “Babylon 5” spin-off “Crusade,” where the Shadows of B5 had been defeated, but their minions continued to plague the galaxy. Or if you’re a Tolkien nerd, it’s like when Sauron continued the work of Morgoth. It’s very exciting stuff.

They continue to set things up for future episodes. They call back to the salt thing from “Wild Blue Yonder,” when Kate orders her men to encase the Toymaker’s box in salt. They also give us a hint of future Master appearances when a mysterious hand with cherry red nail polish retrieves the Toymaker’s tooth. Is it just me or was that lady floating? Because I can’t tell where she would have been standing. But most exciting of all would be the implications of bi-generation and the Fifteenth Doctor’s prize of splitting the TARDIS. According to Davies, he sees this as something that happens across every regeneration. Now every Doctor goes on to have further adventures with their own TARDIS. I’ll be honest, I like this idea less, but that’s mostly just because it’s a bit messy. But why I like it is that it makes a case for its existence. Doctor Who has always been slightly metafictional. Do you need to replace an actor? Well, now the Doctor’s body can change. But this has also introduced a problem into the show which is that if an actor gets too old to play their Doctor, you have to come up with some weird excuse as to why they now look old and bald. But not anymore! While the concept of time streams would have been a cleaner and more wibbly wobbly way to approach this issue, I’m fine with this explanation. It serves a purpose and fixes one of the show’s oldest conundrums.

One aspect the fandom still seems a bit murky on is whether or not the Fourteenth Doctor will still go on to become the Fifteenth Doctor. I’ve seen some people wonder if the Fourteenth Doctor might go on to become the Currator. But I like to think it’s more like a Clara thing where he’ll eventually return to his original point of death to bi-generate into Ncuti Gatwa. One reason I think this is because the Fifteenth Doctor feels at peace with himself. I like to imagine this is due to living a life with the Noble-Temple-Mott family. Something inside the Doctor heals and he’s eventually ready to get back out there and travel like the good ol’ days. Truthfully though, neither scenario would really bother me. With Donna now working at UNIT and Fourteen sticking around I expect we’ll see them again, but at this point, I’m ready to watch Ncuti dazzle us for a bit. 

The epilogue with Donna’s family was such a nice and necessary scene. While Ncuti had since become the new Doctor, he wasn’t yet the current Doctor. We still needed to say goodbye to the Fourteenth Doctor. A good and proper goodbye. Earlier in the episode, Donna mentions to the Doctor that he never seems to rest, but here he seems at peace. It’s funny how it took 15 years to explore how the Tenth Doctor could have been “so much more,” but here it is. The real reason he came back was to retire, to have a family, to find peace. It’s as though every regeneration still swimming around in the Doctor’s mind is finally able to relax. We do however get a hint that it’s not all sunny days and lemonade. If you read Rose Noble’s Magic Card, it mentions she is ready for adventures in her own right. Seeing as she is known to have the occasional trip to Mars with Uncle Doctor, I suspect we’ll see her in the TARDIS sometime if not Big Finish. 

Back in his own fully accessible TARDIS, the Fifteenth Doctor is finally the current Doctor. He runs around his TARDIS consoles flipping switches and having the time of his life, ready to get out there and show the universe what he can do. And what a joy it is to see, is it not? I had been very nervous about this episode because I was worried about where Doctor Who would end up in the end. So much had changed during the Chibnall era and not all of it was for the better. The future of the show felt very shaky and uncertain. Ultimately I was hoping the show could once again find some sort of equilibrium and I feel it has. Doctor Who feels like it’s finally at a point where it can comfortably move forward. I can’t think of anything better to say now than “Allons y!”

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

Danny Phantom (and technically optional crossover) Prompt

Imagine, if you will, a not-aging Danny Fenton. There’s about a dozen ways to do this, but in this case—Danny still has a human lifespan, he just looks human (though, I won’t argue against any immortal Dannys). As Fenton, he’s just stuck at fourteen. Phantom, being a ghost whose appearance is based on what he sees himself as, does look older. By this point, he’s probably retired from superheroics—I just find unphased and jaded 18 year old Danny to be hilarious. So, he’s just like ‘I wanna go to college’.

So he does. He just. Always looks 14. His hair grows, he can build muscle, and he can definitely have dark eyes—but otherwise? Short ass 14 year old. He constantly has to prove that yes, he’s the real Danny Fenton, and no, this is not a scam. He eventually has to get meta-specific paperwork filled out—no need for the genetic test if the power is fairly obvious. (Of course, it’s possible to do this AU as not crossover, but then you’ll have to do the legwork of making it less odd that someone has superpowers, and whether that means everyone knows he’s Phantom, which might change some of the issues. It also doesn’t have to be DC, for instance, you could use Marvel or even My Hero Academia—ultimately, up to the writer.)

Anyways, he gets his degree(s), enters the workforce, and by the Ancients is it hard to be taken seriously. Even people who see his paperwork and know for a fact he’s a full fledged adult are just like, aw, poor kid, can’t even reach the top cabinets without stretching or climbing. So, while he could just keep being the most qualified 14-looking-adult, he’s quickly getting sick of it. He can’t even be a school teacher, none of his students will take him seriously! Not even the younger ones, cause even the other teachers aren’t respecting him.

There are about… three options available to him, up to whoever wants to pick up this sort of prompt.

1-he gets into acting or modeling. Or perhaps, stunt acting. And everyone is just a bit unnerved about how absolutely none of the nonsense seems to get to him, and he’s just… a little *too* bendy sometimes. He’d make a great scare actor, if he wasn’t terrible at scaring people.

2-he goes into the work force as Phantom in a cheap wig and terrible contacts. Half the time, he forgets at least one contact. Cue mystery of who the hell this guy is, because, for ONCE, someone actually paid attention to the paperwork and knows that he DOESN’T look like THAT.

3-he tries to get work in a slightly more remote position, where his colleagues are few to none. Of course, that is, until some hero or another such professional has to meet him in person, and gets one hell of a shock about who their expert on the computer has been all this time.

There’s of course the undercurrent of Danny’s experiences as a teen hero, so sometimes absolutely wild situations show up, and his stories are like, super weird. He thinks at least SOME of his experiences must be universal, and they’re… really, really not. The outlandish stories don’t help the whole ‘not taken serious’ thing, but then they turn out to be true. Bonus points to rogues or ghosts showing up to say hi and everyone is like WAS THAT A FUCKING DRAGON?! And Danny’s just like ‘yeah she was a beauty pageant coordinator in my hometown, we kept in touch. I helped put her brother in jail’. As if that did NOT just raise more questions than before.

Of course, use or don’t use what you want (such as, he does keep a public-ish position, or he just goes full villain to prove a point, or even somehow starts working undercover at schools and summer camps for xyz reasons, whether or not the Justice League finds him, what his degree(s) weee even in, etc etc), I just think that Forever Teen Danny stories are interesting.

Basically… it’s reverse Shazam, haha.

[usafphantom2]

Here’s why SR-71 crews used the most dangerous material (except fissionable nuclear material) to start the Blackbird engines

Mach 3+ strategic reconnaissance aircraft

The SR-71, unofficially known as the “Blackbird,” was a long-range, Mach 3+, strategic reconnaissance aircraft developed from the Lockheed A-12 and YF-12A aircraft.

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

The first flight of an SR-71 took place on Dec. 22, 1964, and the first SR-71 to enter service was delivered to the 4200th (later 9th) Strategic Reconnaissance Wing at Beale Air Force Base, Calif., in January 1966.

The Blackbird was in a different category from anything that had come before. “Everything had to be invented. Everything,” Skunk Works legendary aircraft designer Kelly Johnson recalled in an interesting article appeared on Lockheed Martin website.

No need for a traditional starter

To save on weight, the Skunk Works eliminated a traditional starter for the Blackbird. So, they figured out another way to start the SR-71.

Here’s why SR-71 crews used the most dangerous material (except fissionable nuclear material) to start the Blackbird engines

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. SR-71A Blackbird 61-7972 “Skunkworks”

Former Blackbird pilot Richard H. Graham explains in his book SR-71 Revealed The Inside Story;

‘The high flashpoint brings up another problem. Most jet engines use igniter plugs, nothing more than a very hot spark plug, if you will. Using these igniter plugs they used with the JP-7 and just drowns it out, it won’t ignite. Kelly [Johnson] put his engineers to work, and he said, ‘OK, gentlemen, how are we going to start this?’ They came up with a very unique way. Triethylborane – TEB for short. Each engine has a one-and-a-quarter pint. If I had it in a squirt gun and I squirted it into the atmosphere, it would go Kaboom! – it explodes with contact with the atmosphere. And that’s how we started the engines. As the engines rotate, at the right time, it sprays this amount of TEB into the turbine section, which goes kaboom, which in turn lights the engine. When you take the throttles up into the afterburner, it puts this metered amount of TEB in that lights up the JP-7. You get 16 shots for each engine.’

The most dangerous material to start the SR-71 Blackbird engines

Mounted on each engine was a sealed tank, inerted with nitrogen gas and filled by maintenance with 600cc of TEB prior to each flight.

Former SR-71 Blackbird pilot David Peters explains: ‘An interesting note to this is the transport of it. If we landed away, servicing had to be hauled to our location. The NTSB lists TEB as the following most dangerous material, one step below fissionable nuclear material. The folks that handled this stuff were highly trained and good.’

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter X Page Habubrats SR-71, Instagram Page SR71Habubrats and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder Habubrats for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: John Freedman and User:Jaydec via Wikipedia

Linda Sheffield Miller

Grew up at Beale Air Force Base, California. I am a Habubrat. Graduated from North Dakota State University. Former Public School Substitute Teacher, (all subjects all grades). Member of the DAR (Daughters of the Revolutionary War). I am interested in History, especially the history of SR-71. Married, Mother of three wonderful daughters and four extremely handsome grandsons. I live near Washington, DC.

@Habubrats71 via X

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 1/23/2024

listen i got my last job through one of youse on here so weirder things have happened: i got fired bc the nonprofit wasn’t doing so hot. let me know if you have a weird data/database or market/tech research job. i promise my worksona is so so so nice and pleasant to work with. remote only, looking more in the $75k range but can be a bit flexible if it’s a cool enough job, i am in the central time zone of the USA and will not need sponsorship anywhere but DO need the cadillac of healthcare and dental plans. portfolio, publication list, and linkedin with my government name available on request!

listening

both of these are from my sister! this is another FULL ALBUM rec (good lord). The Offline’s album La couleur de la mer is a soundtrack to a movie that doesn’t exist, inspired by his long walks in the fog on the French Atlantic coast. a little spacey, a little soul, very sixties/seventies neonoir. i am quite fond of the very first track, Thème de la couleur de la mer.

she’s also sent me a bunch of tiktoks with Perfect (Exceeder) by Mason and Princess Superstar. hell of a goddamn music video for this thing. mid-aughts clubbing music at its finest. stopped me from dissolving into a puddle of emotions on the way to and from the vet today bc it’s too goddamn bouncy to be sad around

reading

im reading a trilogy i want to discuss as a whole whenever the third one comes through as a library hold, and a book by a friend. i do not typically talk about books or fics by friends here bc none of them have ever asked for critique, and i dont want to play favorites or inadvertently miss someone’s work. so here’s a story about porn on Wikimedia, which is the kind of database drama and technical arguments that fascinate me.

given the number of articles from 404 Media i shout about here and elsewhere i really should sign up for their $5/mo subscription tier when i have a steady income again

watching

somehow missed Star Wars Visions 2, their second anthology of weird little shorts. i was not super impressed by the overall storytelling this time around, but it was fun to see them reach out to more global studios and see a wider range of styles. there’s some goddamn incredible stop motion in here.

i particularly enjoyed Journey to the Dark Head, which not only has some interesting fringe Force believers and beliefs but has one of the sickest anime bullshit lightsaber fights in this season. this one is by Studio Mir, most known for the Legend of Korra.

also really liked The Spy Dancer by Studio La Cachette, partly bc it’s incredibly beautiful and i like when Star Wars leans into art nouveau, and partly bc it felt the most like a complete short story. emotional arc and everything! strong beginning middle and end! this IS a really low bar, but a lot of the shorts this season did not have a coherent little story to tell or a strong emotional arc, or fumbled their arc partway through, and were just kind of vibes and animation showcases? nothing necessarily wrong with that, also how i felt about most of the last collection. my expectations are underground for any Star Wars media.

playing

as is tradition i dithered about this section the most. this is more of a What’s Next? planning ramble.

the laptop gets shipped back to my old job today so i will no longer have a working modern computer. i have to dig the switch out and see what’s up. maybe start a whole new run in breath of the wild or whatever the last pokemon game was. i think i also have the sword boyfriend game everyone was up in arms about two years ago? and i think i am somehow part of a switch family plan that lets me have some older games?

this section may look very different in the next ??? amount of time until i get a company laptop again. or finally replace the motherboard on my personal desktop but that sat in my car for several weeks during the heat wave this summer while i did not have an apartment and i am really REALLY afraid to open that box.

oh the free epic game this week is a platformer, a genre i have historically not cared about. godspeed to those of you who do

making

soup bc aldi had alphabet pasta and that jolted me out of myself for long enough i was briefly convinced making alphabet pasta soup would fix me. so i found this recipe while in aldi. despite this not being a very good soup or a very good recipe, i feel a little triumphant bc i now know enough to brown the tomato paste before putting it in the soup. unfortunately i overcooked the pasta. there’s kind of a lot of texture happening here, and i wish i had chopped things finer, but i will probably steal my best friend’s blender tomorrow and blitz some of it down.

it’s edible. im going to eat it all. it will not be going in the rotation

[do-you-have-a-flag]

it's coming up on the anniversary of the first fanfic i ever posted online, something i wrote when i was 12, lying about being 13, and deeply inspired by

the book it's based on

kids tv sitcom humour

other fanfic

it is not well written and very short and also a song fic making it 65% lyrics and immensely silly

but back then i was having so much fun i would bang out a few hundred words per chapter every couple days and i would get delight from other tweens and a ranging level of polite to scornful criticisms of my piss poor spelling and grammar from some. it never hurt my feelings because it was never personal/threatening and i was very into being annoying as a hobby at the time.

my 2 entire friends and i would write about each other's favourite anime boys for each other, we talked back to characters held captive to our bad fics in authors notes, we were in the deep end of early 2000s random-core humour, we both unironically enjoyed and made fun of poorly written fanfic, everything was fanservice and everything was melodrama

i remember walking to school feeling so powerful because some rando on the other side of the world said i made them laugh with what i had written in probably like an hour and posted without any kind of editing the day before.

but that very first fic i wrote will be 20 years old exactly this month.

when i wrote it the world wide web was only available to use by the general public for about 11 years at the time.

there are adults right now who are younger than this story i wrote when i was 12

i think it's so cool, i don't really write much fanfic lately but it's so wild that i have been online this long having fun with other people because of a shared love of a work of fiction that inspires creativity no matter how casual.

obviously fandom predates the internet but there's something to be said about accounts that are older than adults still floating around, about an active backlog of actual decades of online creativity

let kids have fun making stupid stuff is what i am saying but like with utmost sincerity. and with consideration of all the risks inherent to online connectivity, i don't think the bad negates the good or that the good cancels out the impact of the bad but this post isn't about all that

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Ficfinder finds: The Lemonade Leak

Chapter 16: The Twin

Chapter 16 Summary: No summary

The Twin: Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is only available to those who have an Ao3 profile. This fanfic is written by @turtleinsoup, so go show them some love and support!!

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Plot is five out of five!! Oh my gosh, so many things happen in this chapter!! This is the key turning point in the story!!"

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Suspense/Mystery is five out of five!! As this chapter focuses heavily on action scenes, I'd say the suspense is crazy!! It gets intense, and you wonder what's going to happen, like every few seconds!"

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Angst/Hurt is five out of five!! The angst is jarring, intense, and incredibly prominent during this chapter!! A lot of bad things go down."

Fluff/Comfort: 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is zero out of five! This chapter has zero comfort whatsoever, and instead is full of cold hard angst and hurt!! ^^"

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is four out of five!! The action scenes in this chapter were filled with so much tension and suspense!! I'd say this chapter is certainly a stressful read, but the good kind of stress ^^"

Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Drama/Tension Level is five out of five!! The tension between the twins is incredibly thick. In fact, the overall tension levels of this chapter all together are wildly high!!"

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Triggers for this chapter are five out of five. Ok, this chapter is a very triggering one. As stated in the authors note, this chapter contains; Graphic Violence, On-screen Mutilation, Destruction of Public Property, and Sibling Abuse (!!!). This chapter has a few more triggers to it, so remember to read the tags, and stay safe!!"

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! The writing style really moves incredibly smoothly for most of the chapter being action scenes!!"

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Audio) is five out of five! Due to this chapter being a high intensity one, I'd for sure recommend listening to it, as it hypes up the experience!!"

Length: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Length is three out of five!! Chapter 16 of The Lemonade Leak takes about 20-21 minutes to listen to!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter ->

<- Previous

The Lemonade Leak: Story Ratings and Chapter List

Personal thoughts on chapter below cut (Contains Spoilers)

Leo chuckled, drawing in a shaky breath, calling out loud. “Donnie!” he warned. “Catch!” Leo hurled his blade at the body of his twin. Donnie’s hand caught Leo’s sword by the hilt in pure reflex. Which was exactly what Leo wanted.

Ooh man, this is so massively clever!! Leo knows exactly what Donnie would do in this situation. He could chalk it up to knowing his twin incredibly well, but it’s clearly the soldier in his brain. Organizing and compartmentalizing Donnie’s “useful” traits in his mind.  

Then he smashed Chocolate to pieces on its brother and watched as a hundred little metal shards exploded above the pit, across loose tar and limp veins. The monster reached Leo and aimed for his only surviving sword. (Oh, so you want to teleport out of here?) Leo vanished. He re-appeared on a shard-speck behind Donnie’s body and attacked.

This is such an insanely wild concept!! I love how creative Leo is with his swords. Creating new ones, shattering them as he pleases. I find it interesting, that the swords are made of his soul, and that he treats them so roughly. Like a reflection of how he feels about himself. 

Donnie was good. Donnie was an old bite scar on Leo’s shoulder. He was the gloves protecting Leo’s arms. Donnie was the knowledge in Leo’s head. Donnie was Leo’s. Donnie was not Krang.

I find it interesting that the first positive memory that Leo pulls up, is Donnie hurting him. A scar he carries around, all the time. I wonder, if Donnie sees that scar at times, and feels ashamed, or upset. 

The monster opened Donnie’s mouth, and closed it again, before saying. “You- actually meant that? In my lab. That we’re... not twins anymore?” Leo’s hand closed around the plastic barrel. The monster didn’t seem to notice. “Because of what I am now- What I-“ It blinked. “Because you’re not my leader anymore?”

This is literally going to kill me. They’re both now understanding each other so horribly, it just hurts my soul!!

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 41

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

@garbagemilkshake is really selling it with this week's chapter artwork 😏

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Intercrural Sex, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello (TMNT), Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

It's wild that we've finally gotten here because it feels like it's been centuries, but this is the final chapter that includes a scene inspired by @some-guy-named-dominyk It dates back to when Weak Spot was still being conceptualized back in January! Huge shout-out and also how freaking far we've come!!!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings Below Cut

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Last warning for the 🍋 under the cut. Minors DNI!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings: couple of bra mentions, impregnation mention, boob accentuation, folds teasing, getting wet

“Hey, Don?” From where your back was pressed to the flat of his side, you shifted your head against the bicep it was resting on. It accentuated the crook you’d carved out where you were comparing your nails to his.

“Hm?” You could feel him hum through his shell and how he had yet to stop scrolling on his phone.

“When’s your birthday?” You pressed your thumbs side by side to see if the texture was similar.

He made a small noise of recognition and you listened as he let his phone fall to his chest. “Approximately 35, hm.”

Squinting at how that wasn’t an answer, you turned a bit. It wasn’t enough to see him, but instead clip the canopy of your bed. “Donnie?”

“My age.” He clarified. 

“That’s not-” You gave a signaling grunt that you were going to roll over.

He adjusted his arm to give you room.

“-what I asked.” You looked at him, pressing your chin to his plastron.

“I don’t have one.”

“What?”

He gazed at you with faint amusement.

“So…” You felt your expression fall. “Every time you said ‘approximately’…?”

“No way to know for sure. My testing is as accurate as possible.”

“You said 35 now, so you obviously have a date you roll it over?”

The corner of his lip turned up and you felt the slide as the arm you’d been laying on came around your body. “The date is arbitrary.”

“It’s not funny. You’ve never had a birthday?” You tucked your chin down knowing it made you look up at him through your lashes.

The allure manifested in more affection. “What point is there to a mad man celebrating the passage of time?”

That made sense.

In a blink, you saw by how many levels.

There was little time for cake when he was scrambling not to starve as a child.

Balloons would have only hindered a fugitive teen.

He assumedly only wanted one prize in his 20s and that wasn’t something to be gift wrapped.

By 30, he was only starting out life and whipping up a party for one was a low priority.

In a bend, you felt him brush your shoulder before he pet your head. “Your thoughts?”

“I’m a little sad for you.” This time you sank down, dejected, until you could feel the rigid surface of his scutes against your lips.

He pressed his palm to the back of your head and coaxed your gaze to him. “I’m reminded of an Einstein quote.”

“’Time is relative?’” You only flicked your pupils to him before letting them fall.

“There is a continuation in some cases.”

With mild reluctance, you looked at him.

"'It's only worth depends upon what we do as it is passing.'"

The press of a digit said who he was referring to.

You softened with a pout. “Don…”

“Give me one.”

The jolt brought you all the way up to sitting.

His smile grew enough that it curled up the corners of his vision.

“Don, that’s like really important.”

“I know.” He’d had the reach to keep his hand on your head, but he let it cascade to your shoulder. There he gave a reassuring squeeze. “For you.”

Heart fluttering, you pursed your lips to think. “You switching to 35 now plus all the lost time makes me want to do it as soon as possible.”

“It can be tomorrow.” He offered with little weight.

“No, too soon.” You dismissed him absently as you wracked your brain. “Uh what star sign is it right now?”

Donnie seemed less amused as he arched his brow. Still, he relented and showed you his phone as he typed that query in. “Virgo.”

“Oh.” You spoke with a knowing air that he clearly didn’t comprehend. “Yeah, let me see.” You poured over his plastron and he offered up his phone. Tabbing over the date range you chuckled at the aspects of the sign.

Deals with information like a computer.

Chases after ideals to a destructive degree.

Must remember flaws are not defects.

A kind, supportive lover.

“This one for sure!”

Donnie sensed your amusement and pulled his phone back to review. “Inane.”

You laughed.

“For that reason?” He gave a face of disgust.

“No, just a happy coincidence.”

He exaggerated his expression.

You changed angles to peck his cheek. “One month from now and make it a weekend so…” You tipped his phone and in a few clicks had a calendar up. “September 17th.”

He made a show of rolling his eyes.

“Want to have a party?”

Coming down only partially from his grouch, he observed you. “What do you think?”

It wasn’t rhetorical and had you tapping a scute. “Like do I think you’ll have fun?”

“You have experience in the area. In addition to knowledge regarding me.”

“A small one.” You decided, giving him another kiss. “Anyone you’d like to invite or not?”

“The obvious.”

“Kaleb.” You agreed.

“Your friend group has been agreeable.” His look evened out to one you couldn’t quite read. “There’s been no move on their knowledge.”

“Yeah.” You felt as though you were giving whatever sentiment he had. That meant it was a sort of cautious optimism. “I think we’re okay.”

You felt a small pull in his body at your combined inference.

You smiled all the more. “We can find out by inviting them. If they’re really worried, they aren’t going to want to go to a villain’s birthday party.”

Donnie made a noise of agreement and gave a vague nod.

“We’ll rent out a bar.” You walked through your thoughts as they came up. “Cake, decorations, we should play catch up! Do some silly games that kids do, just cause. Why not? It’ll be fun as long as everyone commits! Then something more your style, like a trivia game?” You turned the question to him.

As he chewed the concept, his eyes lit up incrementally.

“We’ll have to do everyone versus you.”

“It still would not be a challenge.”

“You’ll have fun destroying us.”

“I aim for a perfect score.”

You chuckled and shared a kiss. “Flavor of cake?”

He hummed with interest. “Let’s order a nice one. You pick a style and I’ll schedule a tasting?” You watched as he disappeared into himself for a moment before snapping back to reality. “A preview.”

“You… aren’t talking about the birthday party…”

“No, I’m not.” He looked straight at you.

Where your heart was beating out of your chest before, it did a single leap to escape. “We haven’t-!”

“Discussed anything.” He agreed. “No rush, only a taste of what’s to come.”

Heat pooled in your cheeks and the weight brought your eyeseye down. “I do want to talk about it sometime.”

“We will.” He propped up on his elbows to catch you. “Not now. Birthday first.”

You nodded and kissed him to relieve the insistent ache.

He returned it with reassurance.

In a break for air, you spoke against his lips. “What can I get you?”

He stole an extra press before looking at you for clarity.

“A birthday gift. You’ll get gifts, so I’ll need ideas for the others, but I’m asking for me.”

“A gift…” He pondered and laid back into his pillow.

You cooled down your face before chasing him.

“Uranium.” He gave a bob of laughter.

From where you had just rested on his chest, your head shot up. “Like… the radioactive stuff!?”

He nodded, amused with himself. 

“Why?!”

“I’m not allowed.” He scratched your back to soothe your surprise.

You chuffed as his words did the opposite. “There’s a story there!”

Donnie’s eyes shot to the top right of his vision as if it was a great labor. “With its incredible amount of uses, it has somehow eluded me. I broke into many labs to retrieve some, but I was never once able to leave with it.”

You stared blankly.

“Nuclear weapon threat.” He clarified, nonchalant.

The corners of your lips dropped.

“It can be sold publicly under certain criteria, but I have been banned under an agreement.”

You pressed down on his plastron.

He feigned it pressing his lungs. “A stipulation of working with government approval. I’m not to come into possession of it by any means. They have multiple tracking programs that exist not to stop me, they know better, but to flag my entry into a system. My funding would be cut and all my projects seized and destroyed.”

You openly paled.

He gave a knowing huff. “Pity. Even if it could advance humanity; they’d rather destroy as a feeble means to slight me.”

“I know… like know, but it’s still so surprising when you say things like that…” You bore your gaze into his plastron.

He flattened out his hand to your back and pressed for comfort. “Perspective.”

Your gave a single nod.

“Unobtainable.” He rubbed up your spine to get your attention.

You gave it with a slight turn.

“Whatever you actually give me, I’ll cherish.”

You slowly sank down to hug him.

He gave you a squeeze.

“Thank you for sharing your dream.”

He nodded against your head.

“A month doesn’t seem like enough time now.”

He bobbed and gave the small of your back a sympathetic pat. “I said cherish, but preferably not a joke gift.”

You brought your face up to show him you’d take it seriously. “It’s your first.” You did your own knowing flash forward. “Down the road, someday.”

His gaze softened as he liked the insinuation of your future together.

You brushed his cheek slowly, committing the look to memory.

He allowed the etching.

Returning from hanging it in a mental gallery, you settled back down against his scutes. “Can you really not get around the flagging?”

“Irritatingly enough, no.” He clipped. “They flag every single entry into the system, even their own. They bested me only in tediousness.”

“Bureaucracy.”

“The bane of us all.” He nearly groaned.

-

“You celebrate birthdays.” You stared flatly at the drone from over your pad of paper.

“Oh yeah, every year!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. looked over from where he was moving music around on Donnie’s monitors. He could have easily done so within his head, but he’d offered to share for the sake of hanging out.

“You and Donnie live in two different worlds.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you made a note.

“Don’t I know it!” He rolled his eyes and you glimpsed a mass of files lift and drop into another folder.

“What do you do?” Where you had your knees pulled up into Donnie’s computer chair, you let the pad fall against your thighs.

“Gaming tournaments, server games, oh! And, one time, an online scavenger hunt!”

“You planned them all?”

“For sure! I’m more interested in everyone else having a good time!” He beamed you a glowing smile.

You jolted. “Ah! When is it?! Why didn’t I open with that?”

“Because you were thrown by what a dope MC I am!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. spun his chassis to reflect light which made it look like sparkles were coming off of him. “January 28th!”

“Early in the year.” You mused.

“Christmas part two.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. croned. “Any excuse to party!”

“You know…” Running your fingers along the edge of your pad, you dipped your eyes. “Coral wanted to meet you and the others know about Donnie…”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. had turned to face the monitors again and sent only his digital pupils over to you as he tried to reign himself in. “I’ve heard the second part.”

“You’re helping monitor.” You gave a bob of your head to indicate you knew. “Sorry, I haven’t had time to mention the first, everything was up in the air for a bit.”

“Dad’s PTSD.” He hovered a little to the side, just enough to where you could glimpse the other side of his beak. “Retraumatization and all.”

“Yeah.” Though on the mend, wounds like his were not something to be cured. They were to be carried and coped with. Even tonight, though he’d been fine enough going on his own to an investor dinner as a means to give you space to plan, you still had worries.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You lifted your gaze at the new inflection.

“Not to push, but it sounded like you were leading to something… awesome??”

You pushed your lips to a corner. “Someone’s being selfish.”

“Me? Pssh! Never! Who’s that? Couldn’t be me…!” His gaze darted away before he flew right up to you. “But seriously, Coral wants to meet me and we’re already talking about a party so putting two and two together…!?”

You bopped him with your notepad.

He revved excitedly under it.

“Want to come to a birthday party?”

In a flick he rose up and knocked your pad to your chest. “Uh, duh!!”

You chuckled.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. swung back and forth shaking the rear of his unit. “A real party! A real party!”

“Cor’s gonna be mad, you know.”

“Pissed!” He sang, undeterred in his little dance.

“You might wanna pretend to be a little afraid. For her sake.”

“Nah!” He did a barrel roll back to you. “I’m gonna be me.”

“And everyone will love you.” You couldn’t help but reach out for him.

He let you pull him in where he nuzzled your cheek.

Releasing him, he hovered close and you tapped the pad. “Okay, so I’ve got the party supplies. You found a location.”

“Music?” He pretended to be aloof and whistled his way back to the computer.

“I do owe you that DJ event, but that’s supposed to be for you.”

He tapped the desk with one of his rotors. “Now look here, what’s a DJ to a party of one?”

Your lips fell a little.

“A blast.” He went on, without noticing.

It brought a smile to your face.

“But a crowd?” Another roar of his motors took him into another flip. “Now that’s a bash!”

“Remember, Donnie-”

“Pops doesn’t like music, yeah, yeah!” He waved a rotor at you before focusing on the screen as if he were writing hundreds of words a second.

You watched as dozens of screens and folders rotated for him to sift through.

“I’m gonna make a playlist so good that even he’ll shake his booty!”

If anyone could do it, you bet it was Shelly. “Now, that I want to see.”

“A gift for him and everyone else!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. slowed, playing a song and nodding as he considered it.

A gift.

Drawing the quintessential box on the page, you hadn’t made any progress in that department.

Whatever song S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was playtesting perfectly encapsulated your mood on the matter.

It was solemn and quiet with little change to the soft tune.

You wanted to get Donnie something truly special. It was his first birthday after all, but it was near impossible to think of something he couldn’t already buy or make himself. Art was always an option. It ticked personality and showed care, but you didn’t really want something displayed. You wanted something that would be useful to him and his utilitarian housing choices showed his priorities. There was also the option of a plant, something that could be cared for, but how could it beat out the many little green babies that were growing happily above your head.

Doodling a little bow on top of the box, the song changed to one in a similar vein, but with a raising melody.

It ramped up in a way that you wished your mind would. Being honest with yourself, you really wished you could fulfill his impossible uranium dream. Sketching out radiating glow lines from the box, you could only think of how there was no way for someone like you to accomplish the task. If Donnie had never once been able to get his hands on the sum, what chance did you have?

His hands created technology far beyond what the world currently had to offer.

You could barely sketch out three dimensions to a square. 

Etching shading that didn’t make sense, your pen made a blotch from a minor clogging. Frowning at it, you swept your hand over only for it to smudge on the page and your skin.

Grumbling, you brought the side of your hand up to lick it away.

Hand in mouth, you had raised up to see S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. hard at work.

Blinking once, you pulled your hand back to see the ink, only a faint purple mark on your skin.

You gave a widening smile.

“Hey, Shelly?”

“Hm?” He didn’t turn to you as he swapped two sound files back and forth, unable to settle on which should go first.

“Is there a place that stores Uranium in New York?”

-

Get home.

Dinner.

Hang out with your partner for a couple hours.

Work again.

Figure out how to explain that last bit.

Returning to the apartment and checking the first box, you greeted Donnie with what you hoped wasn’t too much enthusiasm. He didn’t seem out of sorts as he gave you a peck and returned to the mug he was nursing as he stared at lines of data. You inquired about it as you set your bag down and he muttered that he was having an odd error with no obvious culprit. You hadn’t picked up much in the way of the language, but you had a vague understanding that the whole thing didn’t allow for even the slightest mistake.

Letting him read it to you, he found it within a few minutes and the excitement of it had brought him over to scoop you up. A quick cuddle and a longer make-out session then gave way to a meal of reheated leftovers. Having been prepared in advance, it allowed Donnie to focused on the release of this program. As the very one he’d gone to see the investors about, the whole thing seemed to be a smashing success. From what you understood, his data would be integral for some worldwide implementation. He assured you it was all above board, but not something you’d notice as it was more of a work horse for other programs. 

Taking his word for it, you made it through eating and chatting. Having gone over what birthday plans you had so far, Donnie then supplied a list of bakeries he was interested in. Together, you whittled it down to three options, with him ready to make appointments. Thinking that was all in the way of business, he then departed for what should have been your usual wind down routine. He wanted to be up bright and early so as he went to wash up, you stewed on the couch about how you’d never been able to reveal your ever approaching departure. 

Water rushing and your window closing with each swish through it, your brain stalled as you tried to come up with a semblance of a plan. Each one combusted before it took form and you cursed the lousy flammable ground they formed on. Unable to prepare for even your boyfriend’s reaction, as it went left unimagined, you heard his voice before he touched you.

Spasming out of sudden fear, you shot away from his extended hand.

He stared at you with wide eyes. “The shower’s open.”

“Yup! Right!” Too loud.

“Y/N.” Donnie pulled at a towel around his neck, knowing this reaction all too well.

From where you were sitting on the couch, you crawled to the back of it as if you were standing at a podium. In the speaker’s role, you address your audience of one. “Birthday presents.”

He shifted his weight to one hip and evaluated you. “Yes?”

“They’re meant to be a surprise.”

His head tipped. “So I’ve heard.”

“Which means… I need to keep something from you.” Your gaze plummeted.

“An understood agreement.” He stepped forward and bent down to catch your vision. “We discussed the party being one.”

“That wouldn’t make sense.” You gave a nervous laugh as you turned your head. “You already know too much there.” 

You sensed him waiting.

Picking your nails, you squeezed your eyes shut as you ripped the bandage off. “I have work tonight!”

You could almost hear his brain halting. “Your office is closed.”

“Yes…” You rose one lid at a time to find him staring down at you. “It’s not… at my office.”

Whatever patience waned with an edge of irritation. “Explain.”

That made it all the harder. “I… picked up a second job. It’s a whole thing and I hope you’ll understand, but it’s necessary to get your birthday present.”

Silence beat with the hollow of a drum.

Each percussion shook your core until you forced your attention to your partner.

Irritation now lined frustration.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not going to wash up.” You scrambled to get off the couch. “In a little under an hour, I’m going to need to head out for my first shift.”

You heard his padding against the ground and stiffened as you prepared for him to stop you. Instead, you found him near the front door, rifling through his things. Rounding the couch to get a better look, he turned and approached with some black in hand.

Blinking at him and then down, you spied a sleek credit card.

“If it’s money, please.”

“Donnie, that’s not-” You brought your hand up flat to push it away.

He pressed the edge of the card into your palm. “It’s in your name.”

“Donnie!”

“I know.” Worry laced his features. “It exists as a contingency. Under my account, but out of my control. Full access to all my funds.”

“Don-”

He stepped right into your space to show his insistence. “I understand there may be a custom that says you need to spend your funds and, in this way, they are.”

“It’s not about the money!” Your yell distracted him so that you could push his arm into his plastron.

His brow ridge came down like a stone. “I don’t understand.”

“I know and I can’t explain, but I think you’ll really love this.” You took your own turn shuffling forward which nearly pressed the two of you together. “Just for a little while.”

“How long?” He made no move.

“30 days.”

The left side of his face twitched. “How often?”

“Uh…” You resisted grabbing your phone. “I just saw my schedule, 5 days a week, three in a row for my first set.”  

“Your normal job?”

You stared into his pectoral scutes. “Still going. It’ll be hard, but it’s only for a bit.”

“How long are these shifts?”

There was no good way to spin this part. “Eight hours…”

His hands locked onto your arms. “Y/N!”

“It’s not a lot of sleep, I know.” You were forced to meet his gaze.

“Full time!” Fury sat in his eyes. “That’s two hours of sleep at most!” 

“It’s not every night!” You pressed.

“Whatever this is for, isn’t worth it.”

“It’s for you! You’ll see. You’ll-”

“No.” He released and stepped back from you. “Reconsider.”

You gave a withered exhale. “No, there’s a whole plan in place. I-”

His mouth opened to protest.

“Stop.” You shook your head and headed the other direction. “Listen, alright?”

He was quiet and trailed behind as you headed into the bedroom.

“It’s going to be miserable. I get it. I’m painfully aware of how exhausted I’m going to be and the amount of coffee I’ll need to keep it up, but this is important. You do everything for me.” You slowed, just shy of the bathroom and turned to address him. “I’ve finally figured out a way to return even one tenth of that and for such a special occasion? I need to do this, Don.”

You watched his eyes round to you multiple times as he searched for a shred to tear apart your words. 

“I’m gonna wash my face at least.” You explained before stepping into the threshold.

He let you be which you took as a good sign.

Emerging a few minutes later, already a bit tired, but refreshed, you found him clothed and stewing on your bed.

Walking over to him, you tried to touch him, but he moved away.

Giving a sigh, you went to grab a snack to take with you. Finding little, you considered hitting a convenience store for that and some energy drinks. Trying to plot out exactly when to drink them so as not to disrupt the little sleep you’d get, time whittled away until you needed to head out. You gathered up your things and waited for Donnie to come to you. When he didn’t, you trailed slowly to find him laying down.

The picture of asleep, you approached his side of the bed cautiously. “Don? I’m heading out.”

He gave a little noise that he’d heard and turned over away from you.

You watched him with a sad smile. “See you later.”

Silence chased you as you exited the apartment.

-

You should have realized it was going to be a thing.

Returning that first night had caught him, still awake with ruffled sheets as a clear indication that he’d been angrily tossing and turning the whole time you were gone. Even then, he refused to receive you which you hadn’t minded because you were dead on your feet. Sweaty, you were forced to stumble to the shower where you boiled yourself before flopping into the bed still wet. As if to escape you, Donie rolled to the very edge of the bed and your lids fell on his form.

Breakfast was waiting for you when your alarm rudely interrupted what had to have been the second your eyes had closed.

What wasn’t there was your boyfriend.

Exhausted thoughts made you wonder if this was your first real fight as you ate the tasty balanced meal he’d left.

Sheer will power and a nap at lunch had gotten you through the day. Arriving home that night was nothing short of a miracle. Knowing you had to do it all over again created a sense of dread unlike anything you’d felt before.

It said a lot considering what you’d gone through.

Donnie  passed you a single glance before he shifted to a new tantrum stage.

“You’re not leaving.”

“You’re not stopping me.” You were just exhausted enough that you had no control over your facial expression.

He took full offense to your bitter glare and tone.

What should have been your small respite quickly devolved into a screaming match. 

Adrenaline had its own energizing prowess, but you sensed it was short lived.

Heat loosened nothing. 

There were no daggers to be thrown. 

With little more to argue other than you not going and you going, the matter had ended with you storming off ahead of schedule. It left you fuming as you rode over to the building and trapped as you plopped down in a locker room. Pressure releasing, you felt especially alone as you laid on a bench. Surrounded by the scent of starch and cleaning products, you crashed. An empty shell, your lids closed.

Opening them revealed your boss, glaring over you.

A stern and stout woman, you apologized profusely as she ushered you to change. Afraid of earning her scorn too soon as it was only your second night, you were served the weight task of cleaning an entire floor. Having barely shadowed another the night before for only one room, you had questions that she squashed it without a care.

This was what was expected of you.

It was in your job description. 

You’d taken the position of night cleaner. 

Changing into your breathable cotton uniform, you took your caddy as you hadn’t earned a cart yet. It meant more trips back to supply, but you focused on your tasks. From gathering trash to mopping, you put in the labor necessary. Exhaustion ate away at detailing which summoned your boss to reexamine your work. Putting in the effort to immediately clean each spot you missed, you heard her quiet as you scrubbed. A faint appreciation tracked you and you made sure to log the level you would need to maintain.

It meant you stayed an hour later to do the job right which brought you home to an even more furious Donnie.

The only thing that kept you from another fight was the lonely hour of sleep it left you with.

Blinking in bed, you woke to find yourself worse for wear.

Dead on your feet, you could barely raise your head as you headed toward the kitchen.

Another spread was laid out and this time the foods were ones you vaguely remembered Donnie once explaining were good for long term energy release. It showed kindness where his person had none and you took the meal to the couch, having not seen him.

Eating slowly and knowing you were losing precious seconds, you got the barest bump that got you back to your feet. Just as you were about to pass into the bedroom, you heard the door open and you glanced in that direction unconsciously. 

It took only a second for him to fly towards you. “Look at yourself!”

“I will.” You didn’t have the energy to fend him off. “Mirror in a sec.”

He caught you by your chin. “This farce has already gone on long enough. What sort of employer would allow you to work in this condition!?”

“You think I’m the only one beat down working a night shift as a second job?” You scraped up enough to glower at him.

He released you; the barb planted.

“Probably don’t look as bad as you.” You turned and headed toward the bathroom.

“I’m worried!” He growled, not giving further chase.

You paused, grabbed the door jamb to keep from falling. “Not now, I meant 20s you, probably. I’m guessing.”

He puffed up with offense as you closed the bathroom door behind you.

Just before you flicked the tap you heard him punching clean through something soft.

-

Through your third night into work that next morning had been uneventful. On your last legs, breakfast passed with you picking at it as fatigue took everything from you. Left a husk, you ate little before departing. The commute came in stints that you recognized as micro sleep. Hoping those dangers were only for driving, you maneuvered white collar work with a sort of gratitude. Slacking days were easy to pass off and you finished out the day with little more than a single task done.

Ignoring all else to daydream about collapsing into your bed for what could finally be a full night’s sleep, you made your dreams a reality and slept through your stop. Thankful only that no one had robbed you, you scrambled to your apartment nearly an hour late. Donnie stood out on the street in front of your apartment. Taking full blame for this one, you collapsed into him as soon as you got close. He scooped you up and you fell asleep before he got you to the elevator.

You awoke with a start in bed, covered in a blanket.

He was waiting beside you with a piping hot mug.

He only offered it.

You accepted and looked over the golden liquid before giving him a curious look.

It was the most awake you’d been in 32 odd hours.

“I’ll move to begging.” He waited to speak until you’d drained half the cup. He then backed himself off the bed and onto his knees.

“Don-” The wafting scent of the tea wrapped around you.

He came all the way down until his head touched the floor. “Please quit.”

“Get up-”

“Please!”

It took some work and tea rushed down your wrist as you spilled, but you eventually tossed your legs off the side of the bed. “I’m not going to.”

“Why?” He came up, his face contorted. “Nothing could be worth this.”

“You act like I’m dying.”

“I-!” In a flash of malicious rage, you leaned away as he shot to his feet.

He saw the fear and recoiled with a nervous shake to his pupil.

Only when he got ahold of it did he turn to you. “No one knows the effects of exhaustion more than I.”

You slacked and stared at your mug.

“Death may be rare, but the precursor ailments pile up in an instant. It has lasting effects on your body!”

“It’s… one month…” You pressed. “Not even, at this point.”

“A few days shy and you already collapsed!!” He stepped into your space, but didn’t touch you. “If you won’t listen to me, listen to your body!”

“I am.” He’d left enough room for you to get to your feet and you passed him the mug which he took weakly. “Three days in a row is my limit. There’s some flexibility to my schedule so I’ll tell my boss that.”

“The groveling?!” He crowded you as you tried to head toward the bathroom.

“No effect.” You left him with the statement as you stepped onto linoleum.

He stomped off with enough fury that you were sure it was heard two floors down.

-

Refreshed only to a point, you caught that Donnie was quiet in a plotting sort of way. You might have given that more attention if you hadn’t been caught by what felt like starvation. Facilities returned with priority first, your day of barely eating meant you doubled calories on the next. Without a word you were served your larger portion which you paid for in only a vague stomach ache. Cleaned, dressed, and ready to depart, Donnie caught you by the door.

“Last chance.”

“To quit?” You asked him dully, settling into his hold. “Not happening.”

He simply hummed and released you.

You gave a sigh and tried to kiss him as you couldn’t remember doing so in the past three days.

He dodged you and took a calculated step back. “See you tonight.”

You opened your mouth to question the ominous flare, but he had already begun his retreat. Giving a frown at the omen, you slipped out the door.

Office work passed by and you gave twice the effort to make up for the light days. No one seemed to notice your workload and you only hoped that would continue in the coming weeks. At lunch, you ordered twice your usual portion from a local Thai place and chewed huge mouthfuls while texting your boyfriend. He left you on read which, if you weren’t already preparing for whatever stunt he was going to pull, would have put you on high alert. 

With the rest of the day busy and the ride home mundane, you entered the apartment with your eyes peeled. Donnie was at his computer and turned to you, nonplused. “Carbs for dinner?”

“For energy?” You asked, wary.

He ignored you to move to the kitchen.

“Any warning about what you’re up to?”

Silence followed and you glared openly at his form until it was clear he wasn’t bothered by it. Shoving your bag off, you decided you’d join in his childish display and hung out as far away from him as you could. Lounging in the bedroom, he left your bowl on the bar when it was ready and silently headed to eat in the living room alone. Without warning, it took you far too long to notice he was done and, by the time you got to it, your food had gone cold. Grumbling at the microwave, you snuck angry glances at him which he continued to snub.

Already deciding what crumbs to spill on his half of the bed, you hit play on a video at full volume to twist the knife. His shoulders hiked as the only indication he’d noticed. A double edged sword, both you and your speakers dealt with the brunt as you stubbornly ate without changing the dial. Leaving the bowl for him to deal with, you then got ready for your night shift. It was in moving through the bathroom that you noticed Donnie curiously doing something similar. In clips, you saw him change out of his loungewear, but it took until the second he pulled a sweater over his head for you to stomp over to him. “Oh, hell no!”

“What?” His head popped through the turtleneck with smarmy malice. “I have things to attend to.”

“You’re going to follow me.” You hissed.

“Tracking is not allowed.” He offered with a slight turn of his head.

You smoothed your hackles a bit. You needed to take him on level headed or it’d be the same useless fight. 

“Consider me an attendant.” He moved to get his coat.

“How is that any different!?”

“I’m not following. I’ll be beside you.”

“You think you’re so smart!” You stormed away from him to get a lunchbox from the kitchen.

“Think?” He openly mocked.

“We’ve been together over a year.” You opened the fridge and plucked out a few things. “You think I haven’t thought of this?”

His pause said he had, but your insinuation left him not wholly sure.

“I can’t take you on.” You responded simply, zipping the pouch up. “Not alone.”

It took a full second for Donnie to be set ablaze. “S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.”

The ghost of the name off his lips had you smiling.

“My creation!” He roared.

“He knows the whole plan.” You shrugged, stepping out from the kitchen to show how unbothered you were.

“He-!” What struck Donnie was a knife to his back.

You hadn’t thought of how that could be a slight.

A display of your lack of trust in him.

A flaunt of who had it instead.

“W-wait!” You started to move, but he flung his body away from you as if you carried a deadly disease. “Don’t be so dramatic!”

“Me?” He seethed, fleeing the scene. “I should pass you off for torture!”

“You’re a child!” You threw your hands up and stormed towards the door.

He followed at a distance.

“Good luck.” You threw bitterly over your shoulder as you stepped out.

You pulled the door and felt him snatch it before it slammed.

He then gave a sharp yelp as it yanked closed on his fingers with neither of your powers.

“Thank you, Shelly.” You told the air and headed toward the stairs for a quicker get away.

Buzz!

“That isn’t going to hold him.”

Buzz. Buzz.

“You got a plan?”

You got a single prolonged buzz of excitement.

“Have fun!”

-

Coming home that morning, you found Donnie sitting on the steps looking like an absolute wreck. His shirt was torn, one of his sleeves were gone, and muck clung to the bottom of his pants as if he’d waded through a bog.

“Some night.” You remarked, cocking a hip to look over him.

“You cheated.” He glowered up at you with his pupils alone.

“I played your game.” You said and reached out a hand.

He snuffed it and stood. Trying to reclaim any dignity, he then uselessly brushed himself off before heading towards the door.

Tired, but amused, you followed him.

The door opened for him before he pulled it closed right behind in a casual move as he went on.

With it closed almost in your face, you gave a puff at his display before opening the door for yourself.

Beating you to the apartment, he took the first shower, which actually irritated you. It meant you were losing precious seconds of sleep and his prolonged soak ate into your time. When he emerged, you were twice as steamed as him. “What happened to my health!?”

He looked you over, lazily. “You’ll live.”

Your shoulders rose in irritation and you stormed past him to slam the bathroom door.

-

Saturday.

You knew it before you awoke.

You knew it in your sleep. 

It was your day off from your day job. 

You’d both slept in.

Exhausted from the farce, you groggily took notice of the space between you on the bed. It felt like miles as you stared at Donnie’s covered shell. Turned away from you, he was clearly still asleep. It stung all the more knowing how hard he had tried to get to you last night. Even if his actions were muddied, his motive was still the same.

He was worried about you.

The mentality that it’d be alright in the end felt more distant now as you closed the gap. Edging up to him, no matter how childish he had been, you felt bad because you were the root cause. Keeping the sheet down to protect the modesty of his carapace, you got as close as you could without pressing to him. Thinking of how it could both blow off the pent up steam and also affirm your bond, you raised up to press your lips to the bulb of his shoulder. Kissing your intent there, you traveled toward his neck as you felt him stir. Nuzzling comforting affections, you neared his clavicle when your vision blacked out.

Trying to blink it off, it came through cracks and you realized he was using the whole of his hand to catch your face. “Wha-?!”

“I think not.” He said simply and began to rise.

With you in his clutches, he forced you down by his grip alone as he sat up. He then released, but you could tell he was ready in case you tried something.

“Not interested.” His tone said it wasn’t a withdrawal of consent, but something else.

You frowned, still feeling a phantom pinch. “I don’t believe you.”

He shrugged. “It cannot be helped then.”

“So… what?” You watched as he got out of bed and strolled towards the kitchen. “No sex!?”

“Nope.” He popped the plosive.

“That’s your new game?” You crawled up to the end of the bed and parted the drapes. “No sex until I quit?”

He gave a languid nod as he grabbed some juice.

You openly scoffed. “Not only is that totally ridiculous; it hurts you too!”

He shrugged, moving forward to lean on the counter to await the rest of your complaints. “I’ve gone three decades without a single positive touch. What’s less than a month?”

You bristled. “No touch?”

“Oh, was that not obvious?” He righted and rounded the counter with the juice bottle in tow. “No sex, no hugs, no kisses…” He stopped just shy of you with a wicked grin tipping so high, it nearly met his eyes. “Nothing.”

“You’re going to hurt both of us, just because you’re upset I’m doing a little extra work to get a gift, for you.” You sharpened the words as they came out.

“What can I say? You inspired me.” His head hung to the side. “’Play your game.’ It should have been obvious”

“You can’t seriously be comparing the two?!”

Anger flared in him, but he refused to let it on his face. “What’s more childish? Denying affections to a partner for whom has asked in all manner of ways to keep them from hurting themselves or a person damaging their health in pursuit of a gift that their partner patently doesn’t want?”

You sat, lips parted.

“Exactly.” His lids lowered, knowing his point got through. “You have work tonight.”

It wasn’t a question, but it was.

It just wasn’t the one he asked. 

You stared at him and saw the lengths he was willing to go.

He was as stubborn as he was petty.

You narrowed your gaze.

One of his brows inched up.

He’d labeled you the same for a reason.

“I’m going.”

He turned his snout up.

“Our relationship is more than sex.”  

It tipped his head right back down where he gave a bitter bark of laughter.

You squirmed. “You don’t think so?”

You could tell he was resisting leaning into your space. “Oh, I know so.”

Your hands lifted to show your confusion.

“It may not be the basis, but we partake to an alarming degree.” He sneered with a sharp edge. “Comical coming from the one who recently wondered if we were becoming addicted.”

You inhaled sharply, a correction on your tongue.

“Only one of us has struggled with true addiction and withdrawals. An easy triumph.”

Your lip threatened to curl so you flattened it.

“Observe.” He tipped the juice container to you and you watched on with milk confusion. He then shook it which made little sense to you until he lifted it to his lips. It had been a show that it was almost empty and he planted his feet. In an exaggerated tip, he threw out his hips and tossed his head all the way back. It accentuated each gulp as he downed the liquid with a roll of his Adam's apple. A streak of juice broke free from the corner of his mouth and then rolled down said throat. You hadn’t realized your jaw had dropped until a breathy exhale came out. It leaked in almost the same way the bead of liquid threaded down to his plastron.

He resurfaced and caught the tail end of you squashing your stare.

“Right.” Swiping his tongue low and slow over his bottom lip, you felt the earlier idea for the morning stir in your lions. Before you could obliterate them, he flicked his tongue as a finishing move over his canine before attending to the juice bottle. Adding insult to injury, he crushed the thing flat as if it held no resistance.

You were slamming the door to the bathroom before you knew it.

It was on.

-

What you had hoped to be a comfortable afternoon felt like the oncoming location of war. Ripped to either side of the apartment in what felt like strategizing, silence signaled what was sure to be oncoming doom. Unable to compete with a genius’ forethought, you instead rested and prepared yourself for whatever he had to throw at you. Your only tactic seemed to be exhaustion, which you banked on staving off any real effect. Alright with that for now, you eventually went through the motions of dinner and preparations for leaving. Donnie, lost to whatever his research was, barely passed you a parting as you left for your night shift.

Coming home wasn’t near as abysmal, but you could tell your internal clock was spinning wildly out of control. It was only after a shower and collapsing into bed that you realized your partner was completely gone. Feeling particularly alone, you snuck his pillow under the blankets with you. There, you cradled it to your body and tried to focus on your goal.

It had to be worth it in the end.

Waking around 1pm, you groggily could smell something had been cooked. Blearily raising up, you saw the back of Donnie’s head as he sat casually on the couch. Chest steeled, you slipped out of bed with the intention of scoping the situation out, but within a few steps you decided that war paint would be necessary. It constituted nothing more than you brushing your teeth and washing your face, but it still allowed you to exit at the ready. Approaching slowly, Donnie was reading in his usual spot. Ready, but lowering your metaphorical gun, you glanced around to find the source of the smell.

“Chili spiced oysters, grilled asparagus and artichokes, and chocolate covered strawberries.” He said, turning the page.

You made a startled noise and wandered toward the kitchen. “That sounds fancy, what’s the occasion?”

He didn’t respond and you sighed entering the space. Feeling warmth, you found the oven was set low to keep the veggies ready. A quick peruse found the oysters on ice in the freezer and the strawberries similarly kept in the fridge. Making a plate, you leaned against the counter and tried to remember what about this meal struck you. Picking up a shell, you tested it with a swish before downing it. The commingling oil accentuated the fresh flavor that said his morning’s absence had been because he went to the fish market as it opened.

Softening a little at that, you moved to eat next to him on the couch. Enjoying the flavors of the spread, as unique as they were, you eventually moved on to genially pluck a strawberry. It took two tries to get a successful bite with everything but the stem, but their flavor was downright bursting. A little blown away, you went to thank your boyfriend, regardless of his attitude, only to catch him watching you. As soon as your eyes met, he raised a brow before turning his attention back to his book.

Immediately suspecting foul play, you stared over the plates. He’d once mentioned something about you only ingesting things you were aware of so there was no way he’d laced your food. Fearing how potent an aphrodisiac made by his hands would be, your eyes widened. Eyes shooting to the trash where you’d thrown your shells you scrambled back to the bedroom in a full run. Donnie’s soft laughter chased you which only solidified your decision to fumble your phone. Finally gathering and unlocking it with shaky hands, a quick search found he’d gone the all natural route.

Every single thing you’d consumed was said to be an aphrodisiac.

The thought shot straight to your toes and you threw your anger towards the offender.  “Donatello!”

No matter how tepid his hum was, it was clear he’d been waiting.

“What the fuck!?” You stormed over to him, phone outstretched in hand.

You’d have no recourse.

Everything was frustrating enough.

With low lids, he flicked his gaze at the article and back to you. “A fascinating coincidence.”

“Bullshit! You did this on purpose!” Jittery you pulled your device back to your body. Pressing it to your stomach, you considered how long you had.

He took his time marking his place and closing his book. “Me? Support pseudoscience? Hardly sounds right.”

“Pseudo or not!”

“True.” He tilted his head as if it were interesting. “The placebo effect.”

“Wha-?”

He rose up and above you. “The mind is quite powerful.”

You took a cautious step back.

He followed you in a slink.

Your back bumped the counter causing you to look over your shoulder at it.

The predator was in front of you.

In the fateful return, he was looming overhead and your stomach flipped. “How, even plied with dummy remedies, one can still feel as though they are reaping benefits.” 

You fisted your phone, trying not to let your hiked breathing become too obvious.

His brow cocked and said it was. “Take now.” He leaned down into your air space and you fought to ignore his hot breath near your cheek. “You simply ate a meal and yet, in a single moment, you came to think of yourself a soaking, needy mess because of it.”

“I’m not.” You breathed, desperate for air and clenching your legs just in case.

The slick sensation there said his tale was a truth he’d already scented.

“No?” He turned inward to you. “Then you're drenched from what exactly?”

You leaned away, thinking only of cleaning up in the bathroom.

He took a lengthy inhale. “It’s been just shy of a week since your last orgasm. Did you dream of me or are you simply that desperate?”

You shoved him away.

He allowed it, chuckling on his way back to the couch.

Miserable in the spot, you plodded toward the bathroom to wipe up your shame.

You wouldn’t be caught again.

“Watermelon arugula salad and a fig tart tonight!”

You didn’t need to look those up to know you’d be ordering out.

-

Surviving the night and the mild ire from Donnie when you wouldn’t touch what he had cooked, you slept through until Monday which had a regular work day and one more free night before you went through another three-day back-to-back gauntlet. That meant if you had a comeback, now was the time to execute. On your lunch break you researched, looking over your shared calendar. It indicated that Donnie would be harvesting crops today so dinner might be safe. It also noted that tomorrow he had an important enough meeting that he’d blocked out the space as opposed to lumping it into a work category.

Leaning back in your chair, you pondered over how to ration your time. You still needed to rest so there had to be a way you could schedule out ideas. You needed plans at the ready, but with Donnie a powerhouse of premeditation, there was no way to keep up. You had to play the game with your own flare. It was one of the things that attracted him to you in the first place. Snapping forward, you smiled over the calendar still up on your phone. You’d be relying mainly on luck, but that was something Donnie hated counting.

Riding high and hoping the universe had you in its favor, you made it through work and then home in a rush. Barely edging out the commute, you threw a thank you to whoever would hear that Donnie was still on the roof. Only half wondering if he thought you’d bring him a drink for toiling under the sun, you shot to the bathroom. Touching up errant oils with targeted blotting and messing up your hair in a more deliberate way, you began to peel off your clothes.

Your top draped with the slightest cling so you tossed your bra in favor of letting it outline what was underneath. Kicking your pants aside, you appraised in the mirror, snapping a few shots, before prancing out of the bathroom. Phone in hand, you traipsed around the apartment taking pictures. Ending with no clothes and hearing a telltale knob click from where you were sprawled out on the bed, you rolled right off and scampered off into the bathroom indelicately on all fours. There you threw on something comfortable and emerged to find Donnie a mess.

Taking him in, you approached more curious about the huge basket of vegetables he set on the counter. He had dirt smudged over his face and arms where he hadn’t opted for his usual wraps. Assuming he’d ditched them for heat and mobility, he was stripped down to a shrink wrapped tank, his sunhat, and a pair of sweats that had been relegated to yard work.

“Good haul?” You saw greenery peaking over the small bar.

“Yes.” Donnie nodded, a bit out of breath.

“Hot?” You tilted your head and wondered if he’d take such easy bait.

“Quite.” Ignoring you out of what you figured was dehydration, he turned and reached into the fridge for a glass of water.

Taking his distraction, you snuck closer to examine the basket. “Want me to cook tonight?”

“You can.” He offered, coming away from the ice box with some reluctance.

“You’ve done your share. I’ll wash and store.”

He only nodded and moved out of the way.

Freeing up the sink, you found him off to the side with the glass bottle pressed to his head. “Want a towel?”

“Why?” He lowered the drink to pop the top.

“You got a little something…” You pointed at your cheek.

“Ah.” Setting the bottle down on the counter, he pulled off his hat in a fluid motion. You stared on, moving vegetables and watched as he leaned forward to catch the hem of his tank top. He then yanked the fabric up with an arch of his back to use it to smother his face. Eyeing his plastron and slim waist as if he’d put abs on display, your lips parted and closed. The sound must have snagged his tympanum because he lowered a fist of black cloth to peer at you with a knowing eye. “Something the matter?”

“No!” You turned away, flicking on the tap.

“Hot is a double entendre.” You could sense him sliding over.

“Eh, yard work doesn’t really do it for me.” Setting a cleaned stalk into an awaiting colander, you felt him comb you for how honest that statement was.

“I see.” He decided eventually.

His tone said he’d dropped it so you offered him a glance while grabbing the next head.

He stared openly. “Might I ask why?”

“Maybe from a distance.” Cool water ran over your fingers as you parted leaves. “But up close? So sweaty.” You stuck your tongue out as you added the next veggie to the done pile.

He made a noise on how he found that interesting and got even closer.

You could feel the latent heat wafting off him. “Please? I just changed and don’t want to again.”

“I have no interest in dirtying you.” He reached out and stabilized himself with one long arm to the counter.

Turned away, you gave the air an eye roll for his innuendo. “Go shower then.”

“Soon.”

You returned to the sink to find that arm he’d plastered now right beside your head. Looking it over with disinterest, you traced it back to the owner in a turn. “Your new ploy isn’t working how you’d hoped.”

“Texture or scent?”

“What?” You turned off the tap and folded your arms to give whatever this was attention so he’d move on.

“The sweat. Which bothers you more?”

“I don’t know about bothers.” You gave it genuine thought. “It’s like if you’re dry and someone sweaty touches you. That stickiness is gross.”

He nodded, his face one that said little.

“As for smell? Some really funky BO competes with those wafts from the sewers. Again, that’s probably universal.”

“There are many factors.”

“Here comes the science.” You teased, going for the tap so he could infodump freely.

His hand shoved and his arm curled to block you.

“Don.” You sent him your genuine boredom.

“Hormones, food, bacteria, even medication.” He had a look that said he knew and begged your time.

You leaned back against the sink. “Deodorant, sure. You feel gross, don’t you? Why are you prolonging this?”

“You like my scent.”

“Sure, that’s science too, right? Pheromones and what not, latent smelling of potential partners.”

He flicked his gaze to his arm and back to you.

You did the same, not gleaning much. Returning to him, you waited until the lack of clarity brought your brow down. His raised incrementally in time and you broke the silence to guess. “You want me to smell you?”

He tipped his head towards his limb as if it were an offering.

You made a face. “Ew, why? You’re clearly sweaty, which if you must know, I wondered if you could get. So question already answered, check.”

Leaning his head over, he let his cheek land on his bicep to keep watch.

“That bad?”

“Humor me.”

You held eye contact to search.

He appeared as an open book.

Unshielded with a tint of curiosity and a call he wished you’d pick up on.

“Fine, but I caveat?”

“Go ahead.”

“If you like smash my face into your sweaty body, I get a free punch.”

“Nothing of the sort. I said I wasn’t going to muss you.”

“Agreed then.”

“Agreed.”

Pouting, you gave an exhale to clear your lungs before leaning up to his arm. Ending up around his elbow, your nose hovered over the warmth of his skin before you took a slow, metered inhale.

Like tasting notes, it came in waves.

His natural musk sat at the forefront and was pleasant.

Then came earthen soil as a lush base.

Next were clippings where oils had inadvertently brushed him giving a distinct grassy finish.

All of it rounded back to his natural scent though this time you felt your salivary glands kick into gear.

Instantly confused by the sensation, you leaned back while licking your lips to swallow down the excess.

“In hand with hyperosmia, turtles have specialized glands.” 

“To pick out females and what not?” You looked up at him, genuinely curious though a pounding in your chest made for a faint distraction.

“Chemical communication.” He slid his hand further, putting his arm closer to you.

Not to be backed into another corner, you stood firm as that cocktail wafted up only a couple of inches from your face.

“Unique but not ubiquitous to amphibians and reptiles are mental glands.”

The name seemed obvious enough.

“Usually found near the mandible.” He pointed to his jaw.

Reviewing his arm, that isn’t where you’d smelled. “Not on you though.”

“For most of my life, I hadn’t given it much thought as my brain tunes out my own scent. Realization came about when I encountered the others.” He edged his chest closer.

You glanced over his plastron with little attention as you wondered where he was going.

“’Fear stink.’ They have appalling naming sense.”

“How you can smell fear?”

“Different.” The whole of him was so close that you were being engulfed by the outdoorsy musk. “Theirs and mine.”

“You can…” You tried to piece together what he’d offered. “Read each other’s scents, like your own language?”

You watched Donnie try not to roll his eyes. “If we were inclined, I suppose.”

“Not that then.” You gave a little giggle.

He shook his head. “How do you feel?”

“Fine?”

He gave a hum and you saw a sliver of disappointment as he reigned his arm in. Almost wanting to ask why, you watched as he slid his hand over his snout and up under his mask. Continuing through the motion he pushed the fabric back to where his hairline would be and closed his eyes.

Still closed in by him, it opened up his armpit. Edging away as chances were unsightly labor induced smells now released there, you were instead assaulted by a different scent. Body aching, it trickled through your nose hairs as if diffusing directly into your bloodstream. There, it sped through your veins, heating your skin up and dulling your neurons. Nearly drunk on it and close to drooling, you wobbled slightly as you threw dizzied confusion up to him.

He stood in the same position, elbow out and hand to his head, smirking down at you lethally.

“Wha-what… is?”

“Mental glands.” He reminded, scrubbing back to push his mask off.

“I d-don’t…?” Your skin felt inflamed and you had to grab the counter for a weakness in your knees.

“It was safe to assume that I had control over the scent.”

“You trained…?” Feeling fuzzy you brought a hand up to both block the smell and wipe your wet lips. “Controlled your smell?”

“Only today.” He grinned, wickedly. “Again, inspired by you. I pushed my sweat glands to the absolute limit with only one thing on my mind. I’d almost written it off, a failed experiment.”

You searched his face, covering your nose and breathing in your own breath. It helped a little, but you now felt how the heat had settled. Molten core in your lower abdomen, you pressed a hip to the counter for even more stability.

A pheromone.

In a single day he’d trained to express something potent for your nose.

If it was just you?

You had many questions, but one took forefront.

“What… one thing?”

“You.” His arm dropped like a bar to your side and, in a single step, he trapped you. His face leaned in lethally as he craned down with carnal intent. “I thought of fucking you. I thought of you sopping wet just for me. I thought of how you scream my name. Of feeling you. Being inside you. Finally, finally impregnating you.”

One of your hands fumbled back for something and you heard the wayward clatter of vegetables falling from their basket and all around.

You couldn’t pull your eyes away.

They were caught in the inferno that was his gaze.

You could almost see straight into his head and all the scenes he’d mentioned.

You weren’t even mad.

He’d gotten you, but it didn’t feel like it.

You wanted nothing more than to demand he take you right there on the counter.

You had a feeling he might do it.

Break the agreement for this because of what he’d done.

Toiling hours in the sun, running replays on your sex life all to tempt you.

Delirious with need at his moronic lengths, you stepped in as close as your bodies would allow.

It meant centimeters shy of actual touch.

There you inhaled deeply, taking a cue from him in a long swing of your neck to drink in that scent.

A perfume for you.

Then he was gone.

You stared at the space, his musk swarming and the slam of the bathroom door knocked you only enough out of the stupor to blink.

Taking another deep breath of the tapering scent, your knees gave out. With the counter close, you used it to sink down slowly.

The shower turned on and you could only picture him pathetically jacking off against ice cold, unforgiving tiles to assuage the damage he’d done.

-

11am Tuesday morning caught you swiveling at your desk. It had been business as usual after the pheromone incident and what you’d normally consider a nice evening. Though a little early, you were flipping through photos of yourself as you waited for 5 after. Then it would finally be time for your revenge.

Rocking left and right to triple check the payload loads release schedule, you saw the counter on your computer tick over. Double checking the calendar to see that indeed his meeting had indeed started, you swiped over to your gallery. There you picked the first photo of the set and sent it off.

A tasteful start, it had you in your slinky work top from a high angle. It poured down your half-cocked amused face in the top right, chasing your body down to the opposite left. As it had in your tests, the clear chiseling of your not even erect nipple was clearly etched into the fabric.

You didn’t expect a response to this one.

It was tame.

He might not even check it.

You did, however, remember something he may have forgotten:

Your messages were pushed through.

The Darling Protocol was engineered for his downfall.

He didn’t even know it. 

Another thing you were proud of was your composition. Outside of being alluring, your body took up most of the frame so there’d be no way he’d know it wasn’t taken from your office. He’d think you were scantily clad without underthings at work. You clucked as you spun around in your chair. Humming to yourself and, with only a quick check to your cubicle door, you checked the time.

11:07 time for the next one.

For number two, you pulled back. Perching yourself on top of the counter, you had done quite a bit of maneuvering to get both your legs up there. Legs doing work masking your apartment’s unmistakable sink, you had begun unbuttoning your top. What it revealed was the stark nature of your shoulder and the part of one breast which you blocked with an arm curled inward, tucked into your thighs. The other shoulder strap held on for dear life and with a tempting arch of your body, the phone covered your eyes as you used the mirror to take the photo. A transition to mark your lack of pants, a chill tickled your back like a phantom as you sent the photo off.

Your smile was the real star in this one. 

You were proud of the coy thing you’d plastered on your lips.

Swiveling side to side with your feet tucked under the wheels of your chair, you were going to let this one stew.

If you hid the details in the way you’d hoped, then he’d really come to believe this was just taken.

It’d mean you were out of an apparent stall and in the open.

He’d hate that.

You watched in real time as the timestamp was replaced with one that recognized the message as seen.

Within milliseconds percolating bubbles then chased it.

Zero to boiling in less than a second.

Now that was science.

DON’t: Muting.

Yeah, right.

You: Guess I’ll have to take care of myself.

DON’t: Do you think you’ve found some loophole?

You: To what?

DON’t: Phone sex doesn’t require touch.

You: I don’t know. I seem to be touching myself just fine.

The pot stewed.

Tipping forward to pour over your desk, you wondered just how important that meeting of his was.

DON’t: You’ve barricaded the door, I hope?

You snorted.

Not very.

You: Where’s the fun in that?

DON’t: Y/N!

You: We’ve chanced worse.

DON’t: With the safety net of my senses.

You: Yeah, I’ve had my fill of those.

DON’t: Pushing it.

You: I’ll leave you be then.

The reply came quicker than you thought.

DON’t: What do you need?

“Too easy!” You nearly dropped your phone to cover your mouth.

Shrinking down and only barely keeping from ducking under your desk, you waited out to see if anyone would acknowledge your outburst. Finding none, you pulled your phone back to see three missed messages.

DON’t: Y/N?

DON’t: Or

DON’t: Was this your plan?

Another came as you read.

DON’t: A ripple at best.

The last of what you considered the ‘at work’ set, you shot off a classic mirror pose that showed the length of your nude torso along with a ‘v’ for victory highlighting your mating mark.

DON’t: When this is over I will smother you.

DON’t: Coat you.

DON’t: Then take photographs.

DON’t: Real ones. 

You were already planning it, but the dig at the end pushed your thumbs.

You: What are you? Gravy?

You: Seriously, your game is weak and forever immortalized.

You: So bad it literally…

You pulled the camera back and took a selfie sticking your tongue out and making it very obvious you were in a different outfit and in your cubicle.

Sending it off as his response boiled, you rushed yours. 

You: …put my clothes back on!

You: I cannot believe I tricked you that easily

You: I thought you were going to be this big bad brick wall that wouldn’t fall for nothing!

You: Huff and puff all you want! 

You: Little pig got you, wolfie!

Watching his response bubble and pop over and over, you chewed your lip to keep from laughing. You could envision him hunched over his desk, tacking out response after response, without a single one able to save his dignity.

Allowing a small bob to your chest, you checked the time.

11:18.

Two more minutes until the next text and, though things hadn’t gone how you thought, this turn had been so much better.

His typing ended and you smirked at how he’d chosen to childishly ignore you.

He was probably humiliated.

You sort of liked that.

Flicking your eyes back and forth between the text screen and the time, you waited for 11:20 before adding to the chain.

You: Took those yesterday.

You: Which you may be thinking

You: That’s obvious

You: Which yeah, you should have known

You: I mean that quite literally

You: You must have accidentally covered it up with your sex stink

You: You know

You: Because you were laying right on this last night

Attaching what was now technically the fifth image, you hadn’t bothered to get your face in. Instead the image slid down your bare ribs to your underwear which had been left on from the previous shot. On your knees the important bit was being straddled amongst kicked up sheets. His pillow, which you were just shy of rubbing your crotch on, sat obviously between your legs.

Catching the tail end of the message successfully making it through the data streams, you smirked when it clicked as seen. You imagined he was probably up a bit, cycling through the messages until he stopped dead. It was there, without a response, that you sat with a budding excitement.

Would he leave the meeting?

Go inspect the pillow to see if this was another diversion?

Would he bury his face into it and try to get a lick of your musk?

Chewing on the possibilities, you sent the next image as a quick succession. It had you rolled over onto your back where you’d almost managed to get your full body in frame. Rotated with your hips up but your torso turned, you had your arm slung around his pillow bringing it in close. With parted lips, your head was tilted so you were staring straight into the lens while almost kissing the down. Amongst the sheets you’d basically torn up, you looked the picture of ready.

A single bubble appeared and burst as if he’d slipped onto the keyboard.

Lowering your screen, you craned your neck to look both ways out of your cubicle.

Either no one had passed or you hadn’t noticed.

Still good on time, you did a final scan before spinning away from the door. With the back of your chair as a shield, you prepared for the final two. The most risqué yet, the last was then one you were ultimately betting on. A good hand was nothing without its final card and checking the time on your phone for 11:23, you sent out a shorter preamble.

You: Or did you think I stopped there?

Seen.

You: Are you wondering where else?

You: Sniffing around to figure it out?

You: What else I ruined?

Read. Read. Read.

You: How about right where you’re sitting?

The words were an unplanned gambit, but you sent the penultimate image. Having set up a timer and taken a few tries, you got an image with you sitting in his computer chair. Rotated to face the phone with your legs crossed and your head tossed back, you looked the picture of a Fortune 500 mogul. It had the kind of power that if this exact image was leaked, it would only raise the price of stocks in your company. Blocking only what was to be revealed in the next image, each of your arms lay against the same of his chair, waiting.

DON’t: When?

On screen it held no wait, but you could feel his urgency.

Had he gotten up?

Was he huffing the fabric?

He would be soon.

Ignoring his message, you did a final review of the last image. In it, you’d brought your legs up in the chair and parted them. Fingers slid down your body and into your exposed sex, you’d accidentally caught yourself licking your lips in this particular shot. It had inadvertently made it all the more tantalizing and you waited out 11:28 before sending it.

With that, you put your phone away and went back to work after a quick trip to the restroom. Somehow buoyed even though you hadn’t gotten a response, you got quite a bit done before you’d be presumably useless again tomorrow. You acquired an earworm from someone's ringtone and hummed the tone all the way through your commute home. Walking into the apartment on sunshine, you took in Donnie behind the fridge door and a very glaring piece of furniture now absent. He spied your joy with a look of pure outrage, which you brushed past to ask.

“Hey, what happened to your chair?”

-

Work.

Your night shift boss griped at you for fussing over using someone else’s keycard.

Home.

Sleep.

Work.

You barely caught an error in a client proposal right before it was supposed to go out.

Home.

Work.

There was a hot debate over whether paper or a shammy were better for cleaning windows. 

Home.

Sleep.

Work.

You had three meetings today, but one canceled last minute.

Home.

Pushing past the door, you only had one more night shift left before a reprieve. Tomorrow you’d have your regular day shift and then crash for the most sleepy Friday night in existence. Until then, you just needed to stay conscious enough to force some food down and prepare for another night of scrubbing. Though it had been just under 2 weeks, you still couldn’t make sense of the mess in the building. You only saw it under a darkened sky so its emptiness felt eternal. Why then did the floor get so dirty? Who filled the waste baskets with discarded wrappers and notes? Why were there always water spots on the bathroom counters?

Unable to put faces to these miscreant slobs, you slung your bag and missed the shelf you were supposed to set it on. Staring at it as it laid limp on the floor, you felt like it was a match for your form. Slouched and soggy without moisture, you turned out to find the living room quiet. As you predicted, your partner hadn’t tried to mess with you during the most intense parts of your week and for good reason. You already could barely eat; even the thought of sex sounded exhausting. With another shift coming tonight, you just wanted to wear your own chosen clothes for a change and sit, unmovable, until you were forced to.

Rounding the partition into the bedroom, you found the bathroom door closed. You usually hoped to wash a little of the day’s grime before changing, but in reality the order no longer mattered. Dragging feet over to where your lounge clothes sat ready for you on your bed, you threw something over your shoulder, “I’m home.”

It wasn’t loud, but any noise would be enough for his tympanum.

Just as you got a shirt into your hands, you heard the bathroom door click.

It would take precious energy to divert now, but a clean face nearly sounded worth it.

“Almost done.” Donnie spoke.

There was a thick note to his tone that felt like it caressed your ears.

You hadn’t talked much lately.

You missed his voice.

Turning to relay this, you froze on contact with the sight.

Leaned with his back against the door jamb, Donnie was slowly pumping a fist over his erect cock.

No longer collapsed like a bag, someone had scooped up your strap and held you at wound to attention.

“You can use it.” He gave a parting nod before he pushed off the wall. Lazily, almost with a yawn, he continued to stroke himself as he headed over to the bed. Gone was the usual waddle he did around his hard member as his smooth strides took him around the perimeter. Worse than him making it an obvious display, he instead seemed to not care for your existence at all as he paused, clenching his knot, to plop down on his side of the bed. There he laid back, craned a free arm under his neck and sped up, comfortable.

In the quiet as you gawked, you could hear the squishing sounds from lubrication. With them chasing your heels, you turned and made the slow trek to the bathroom with the noise ringing in your ears. Closing the door behind you, they were audibly gone, but their sound continued to chime like a bell. Turning the tap for white noise, you pulled your hand back and caught a glimpse of the bottle of lube left behind. Its location on the edge of the counter said he’d been sitting on the toilet as he stroked himself. In some world it made sense, the load could be easily flushed, but the teenage mentality of it all struck you.

The shame of puberty haunted you like a ghost as you finally splashed ice cold water on your face. It was like a shock and you hadn’t remembered moving into the position that got you there. Trying to wake yourself up from the dream, you scrubbed hard with soap, but didn’t give into the luxury of temperature. Trying to ice the sore, each blink brought the image of his pulsing cock.

You’d never seen him masturbate.

Assaulted by the knowledge, you finished and stared blankly at the door. Straining, you listened for those lewd noises. Hearing nothing, but feeling the rigid wood of the barrier, you grabbed the knob a little too fast. Flinging the door open with a sudden burst, you caught your partner in the throes. Knees bent as he chased his pleasure, his lips parted and his eyes closed. Strain sat in his brow as his fist moved up and down in practiced rhythm. Not quite a blur, streak lines followed green skin as it engulfed and revealed pinks and purples. Hand pushing all the way up against his spread, he curled the skin into a cup upon each upward stroke and let it bounce freely as it fell.

Though he wasn’t looking at you, you felt very seen.

Your clothes were still laid out beside him.

It meant you had to creep closer.

A peeping tom, each step felt like a journey as you watched your partner pleasure himself. The sounds returned and wrapped around your throat to whisper directly into your ears. Slick with smooth glides, his work continued until he could no longer lounge. Pumping against some unseen upper limits, his free arm came down from his head as his torso raised. Core tight, his eyes cracked open as if he needed to make sure the job was being done right. A foreman of his own design, you neared the halfway point to the bed when he caught your presence.

Turning to you without hurry or care, you watched as his lowered lids bounced as he fucked himself. Streams of pre mixed in with the lube and gave a milky opacity to the squelch. Hips now rocking to meet his appendage, he tracked you up the bed. Torn between watching that lurid look of approaching ecstasy and the main stage show of his fat cock, you reached with timid fingers to get your clothes.

Would you change in front of him?

Unsure, but still in motion, quaking fingers reached for cloth.

It was only then that he broke eye contact. Thinking he might give you modesty, you instead saw that they flew to your hand. His lips closed and opened with some unsaid need. Slapped with the thought that he might be imagining your hand instead of his, he gave into a single buck that bobbed his vision. The way he forced it back open said your hypothesis was right and as soon as you twisted it into the cotton of your shirt, he gave a stunted breath. Lids closing and a twitch starting in the corner of his mouth, he bit down on his lower lip as he came.

Gaze flying southward, you stared as he encompassed his glans as best he could. Cum flowed on in obvious ribbons that exuded out between three digits. With an ooze, he handled the spray and what leaked out was slow and of a thick viscosity that you could only think was due to having been pent up. Impossible in such a short time, the tacky quality meant it only slid so far. That’s what you usually took. That spunk clung to your insides. That seed was supposed to leak from you.

Mechanical, your neck rocked as you had to lower your entire head to pull your gaze away. Falling to your clothes, you picked them up as if you had to get as much of them in your hands as possible or else they wouldn’t make the journey. Trying not to let them spill, you turned and heard a breathy voice chase you.

“Can you toss me a tissue box?”

You didn’t respond and locked yourself in the bathroom.

-

All night.

As you scrubbed floors and wiped window sills.

All morning.

On the dreary bus ride home.

Into the apartment.

Where Donnie lay more peacefully asleep then you’d seen him. 

In the shower.  

You turned the water up to a ridiculous degree.

To bed.

Lying, eyes open, until the alarm seems to shove a crow bar into them.

To the kitchen.

As your partner stirred for his own day.

To the couch.

Eating something that had been pre-prepared for you.

To the bathroom.

Where you stood and looked in the mirror.

His cock.

You couldn’t see anything else.

It haunted you playing in a never ending loop. You could sense where he’d been, when you’d caught him a few feet away, jacking it in the doorframe next to you. On the bed, sheets bundled around his hips where he pushed himself into his fist. Pearls of cum, leaking in a release he tried to capture.

Over and over.

Grabbing the sink, you wanted to scream.

You weren’t horny.

You were exhausted.

With every blink you could see his manhood.

Each vein pulsed.

The stretch of his skin.

The bounce of his glans.

The flexing of his knuckles.

Jade skin.

White cum.

You dropped the lid of the toilet and scrambled to catch it before it clattered. Barely saving it and waiting to see if you’d been found out. You couldn’t hear anything and tore off your clothes. It wasn’t until you dropped down, nude, onto the lid that you realized how cold it would be. Wincing and senses flared all the more for it, you pulled your feet up alongside your ass and spread. An awkward position without near enough room, you grunted as both your hands dropped to your sex. One push released the built up slick and you nearly sobbed as you stroked yourself.

The photos had been a sham.

Posing with the sense of action.

He’d actually done it.

You hadn’t.

There’d been no time.

Unceremoniously starting with two fingers, you shoved them in hoping for an outright moan. 

It didn’t come. 

They slid too easily. 

It wasn’t enough.

Adding a third, you moved wrong and a wet squish seemed to reverberate off the walls. Ignoring the percussion, you pushed deeper. Weakness in your wrist from overwork kept you from the necessary speed. That ever present phantom fisting of his ran on its usual relay and you tried to time your stroke with his. Not fast enough, not full enough, not deep enough, you wanted to cry. 

Did you want to get off or did you just want him?

One leg sliding right off the toilet, you sat a broken doll at the thought. Your foot hit the tub and the shake seemed to pale in comparison to the flash bang in your mind. A mental tinnitus drowned it out as you leaned against the tank. Pulling your fingers out bitterly, you stared at your own slick and parted digits just to see it string.

A knock.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You turned your hand over and felt the cool air tinge the moisture.

“Are you… alright?”

Could he smell it through the door?

No.

“Why?” You pushed to stand and only stumbled a little.

You could hear his hesitation as you stepped over to the sink. “It sounded like you fell.”

“Just bumped the tub.” You turned the tap.

The soundless noise of him lingering continued as you wet your toothbrush and got paste. Minty foam taking root in your gums, you scrubbed and saw the wreck of yourself in the mirror. Dark eyes and puffy tear trough, your skin had a ruddy quality from lack of nutrition and general care. Dropping your gaze to the swirl of water going down the drain, you felt Donnie’s loitering weigh as if he were scratching at the wood.

The door was thrown open and you stepped out, toothbrush hanging out the side of your mouth. “Wha’?!”

Already having stumbled back from your sudden movement, you watched his eyes triple in size at your state.

Having nearly forgotten you had to look down.

Nude with desire smeared between your thighs and minty foam around your lips, you felt rabid as you brought your gaze back to his face.

“You were…” He hitched, the mix of scents presumably leaking out of the bathroom.

“So?” You yanked the tooth brush out and weren’t proud of the spittle that came with. “You did! Can’t I!?”

He didn’t respond so you stepped back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

-

Work brought you home, where Donnie had your favorite dinner ready. He seemed apologetic which pained you as pity. Logically, you knew it wasn’t, but you couldn’t shake the feeling. The food was delicious, but you scarcely thanked him as you showered and crashed. Sleeping nearly 17 straight hours, you awoke at almost exactly noon on Saturday. Not feeling refreshed or much of anything, you kept to yourself until your night shift.

Things moved around you as you cleaned, easily losing yourself to the task. The bus jostled you on the way home as if making sure your waking slumber was a real one. You slept through most of Sunday until, in a blink, you were in that cotton uniform again. The building you cleaned became purgatory. You’d go there, slipping through the crack of reality for the passing of time.

The game of not touching one another kept on, but the acidity from it had been tempered. A sorry version of its former self, you vaguely recalled something about Donnie with morning wood. Unreliable memories as the culprit, it had occurred during an obscene four night double shift. Whatever had happened before, you faintly remembered him growling awake and storming away with a waddle into the bathroom. Time lost again after, but you didn’t smell the telltale scent of jizz when you’d taken your turn next.

Your rebuttal, another happenstance, occurred when you’d forgotten to throw any clothes on after showering. You’d simply buried yourself in a towel, atop dry sheets in what must have been an afternoon. You had awoken, a naked sprawl where fitful dreams had caused you to kick the towel away. Hair dried wrong and laid out on the bed. Donnie had returned from wherever he’d gone and stared with a package under his arm at the sight of you through the sheer draping of the canopy.

You’d simply sat up, gave him a passing glance and fumbled to get a shirt on. He’d departed with little fuss to his desk and the sigh you’d given was what you remembered most. Loud and dramatic, you hadn’t meant to communicate anything. You only felt alone and stuffing that deafening expanse into something audible felt as though it would dispel it.

It didn’t.

The last week wrung out like a towel.

Time dripped from it in a rush while moments were trapped and in need of another twist.

Those lingered in passing glances of your partner of whom you felt you barely knew. He was a roommate that took care of things. You no longer looked at your shared calendar as his moving didn’t matter. Your schedule accounted for everything you had and what was left was piss poor maintenance of sanity. The only planned outings that occurred had something to do with cake. You were ushered into shops that were overly frosted and making up for something. Gilded trays served little morsel went uneaten. You went from location to location like a numb little bug gathering bits of food that in no way would help considering the size of the colony.

At the same time, you were hyper aware of Donnie’s existence.

The moments you held close and refused to let run were the ones of precious calm, occupying the same space. Occurring exclusively on the couch or bed, you were so keen that you felt that you could give an accurate measurement of the space between you, down to the millimeter, without a tool. You knew exactly how much oxygen inflated his lungs and you could tell each time his cells were renewed. The discrepancy between how little you cared about his conscious existence and how much you knew of his physical one strung like a burn. It had passed the stage of concern and wasn’t an open wound, yet still it begged for attention with throbs of red skin.

Moving around each other like two oppositely charged magnets, the electricity was palpable. You knew him best when you weren’t looking and you imagined his form in sonar blips. He was a green shape whose outlines were marked by waves and his exact quantities were taken to be sent back to home base. He was a threat signed away by a peace treaty, but both approving parties kept their watch towers just in case. Looking for the slightest slip up, there was none as a cold war waged on your very soul.

It was a cloudy evening, when you returned that penultimate night. Apropos of nothing, you still had some terms with the sun. You’d spend lunch outdoors when possible to soak up what you could in an abysmal attempt at some circadian chemtrails. They had done nothing and you were vaguely aware that readjusting your schedule would be another bout of misery as you arrived at the apartment. Entering, dinner smelled good and there was the snap second of awareness from whenever you were near one another.

For the first time, you seemed to notice he felt the same, but it wasn’t necessarily a revelation. Dropping things on the way to the couch, your listless form was fed and eventually you were off to work. Your boss had some kind of pride and had slapped your shoulder multiple times, but no matter how hard you looked at her, she only seemed like an apparition. She’d be gone when you’d turn to address her and the bus ride home was amongst a sea of haunts.

Did people get on?

Did they ever get off?

Did you?

The apartment door opened at the same time as the bus door did and you stepped both onto the street and into your home.

It was dark, both because of the clouds and the hour as you went to shower. You had office work in only a few hours and you hadn’t washed the shampoo out of your hair as much as you could have. Laying in bed, you turned over out of necessity and with a flick measured 533.4mm between you and Donnie’s shell. The sheet was pulled over his shoulder and he too was another shadow that would presumably disappear the moment you opened your eyes.

They’d have to close first and with a heave, they did.

They also opened.

There was no sound, so it wasn’t the alarm.

Had it been seconds?

Had it been minutes?

Movement caught your eyes.

Across from you, slow and carefully, Donnie was half turned and adjusting his blanket.

Before you’d hit deep sleep, he’d awoken you with jostling.

It seemed odd considering how tired you were.

Why care?

For no apparent reason, he then froze.

Staring at him as he was in front of you, you watched as he rotated his head to see you.

There was something about his gaze.

Heavy.

Smooth.

When he looked away, it was with immense sadness.

For the first time in over a week you felt your heart thud in your chest.

With his covered shell still towards you and a hand bent over holding his shoulder, his two fingers slid into the sheet. Curling them inward to catch it, he then turned his head away as he pulled the covers down. Gaze dropped into the bed as he unfurled himself, you watched as a honey amber glow appeared.

Looking up and bypassing him for the window, the sun had risen and was entering through the window. Squinting as the black out curtains should have been drawn, you could instead see the unusual sight of the building across from yours through the sheer inner layer. Blinking away what must have been a dream back to your partner, golden hues caught the texture of his carapace. Shaking the glance off viscerally, you brought a question up to the back of his head. Instead of responding, he pushed a little more onto his plastron in what was the opposite of a belly up maneuver.

He was showing you his carapace.

Suddenly very awake, you rose up incrementally. “Don…nie…?”

He gave a single nod.

“Are you sure…? You don’t have to… I mean… Why…?”

Flat on his front, he then turned his head 180 to view you.

His gaze held a thousand pounds.

Worry.

Anguish.

Pain.

Apology.

Loneliness.

Each one hit you and reanimated your corpse.

You felt them all to an aggravating degree.

It brought you to him. Closing the space without moving, you were beside him and your knees brushed his hip. He turned his head back into the pillow and the sun rose just a bit higher, throwing shadows differently. Reaching out, more nervous than you’d ever been handling him, you brushed a single fingertip to his softshell.

Unlike its name, it had a leathery quality and was not smooth. Instead, there was a pebbled perimeter that felt one activated gene away from spikes. Sliding your digit out into the expanse, it immediately dropped into a hovel and you had to pull back your focus to see his shell as a whole. Across the width of it sat three angry horizontal scars.  Tears running deep, it created crevices where the darkened green color had never returned. A hateful muddy pink instead, there was then another, not as deep scar that ran the exact opposite direction. Tracing it with a weighted finger, it ran along what must have been his spine.

“I had spines.”

You didn’t look at him and instead followed the same line back down.

“They were pruned.”

It was such a specific word choice. 

Stopping only because his waistband hid the bottom, you looked up his shell with a new perspective. The light was throwing shadows in a way that allowed you to tell directionality. From this angle, you could see that something had been taken from the base of his shell and then run straight up, pruning whatever spines he referenced. “A sword.”

Donnie nodded into his pillow.

Suddenly in need, you moved to straddle his lower half. He turned his head to watch out of the corner of his eye. You hovered, quaking digits, before you placed two hands onto the expanse of his shell. Checking in with him, his expression hadn’t changed and instead seemed to be one of composure. Now with further purpose, you refocused and spread out to map. With each rough dip and curve, you found all manner of cuts. Carved in a thousand senses, there was barely more than an inch at a time that remained without damage. Along with the huge obvious four, you also located two perfectly circular ones near each top edge.

“Punctured.”

Caressing the craters, the angriest blotch of them all sat not as obvious in the dead center of his carapace. Long scarred, it didn’t have the surface level rip and tear. Instead it had a marked entry point where the blade had then been turned for what had to be the deepest perforation. Instead of touching that one, you covered it and applied pressure with your palm. “This is where he tried to paralyze you.”

“Yes.” Donnie sounded both very present and equally far away.

Spreading your digits, you swiped palms outward before dropping down. You pressed the length of yourself to what was available and the rest you covered with your arms. The only part untouched was right at your face and there you pressed a kiss into that egregious wound.

A faint little rumble rolled like there was a storm outside though sunlight continued to pour in.

When you rose up, you watched little plops of tears land on the gnarled surface.

He was moving and you got off of him. He caught you with his own streaked cheeks and pulled you in. The power of magnetism gave out and reversed. Clinging to him as if you had no choice, you rooted as close as you could. Little strips of angry sky skipped around you as you weaseled your face up against his throat. The contact whetted your parched soul and you suddenly felt faulty of bursting from the overflow. Not a drought, but a dam broke and the two of you palmed each other as if each touch could repair the damage. Finally able to wrap your arms around his middle, you shamelessly groped his carapace which wrangled a chuckle out of him.

You looked up at his blurry smile and leaned in.

Meeting in messy vision, the kiss you shared was soft but held a sweetness unlike any other.

The distraction shattered because of it and you went limp as your body reminded you it had been put through the ringer. Happy in spite of it, you reluctantly released his shell to caress his cheeks and commit them to memory.

“It was never the scars.” He explained with a voice quiet and loving.

You looked into his eyes to translate your curiosity.

“It’s my most vulnerable part.”

Kissing him as a gratitude for sharing, you had to shake your head.

“No?” He stole another press of lips and waited for your answer.

“Your heart.” You whispered against him, drinking him in.

Lips moving in tandem, you weren’t sure if they tapered off or you simply succumbed during. The alarm woke you where you were still safely cuddled into his body and, though you weren’t even close to any sort of rest, peace made getting out of bed easy. His arms trailed you as you slipped free of them and you heard his groggy voice gravel something out.

“Day 30.”

“The last day.” You cooed back and tucked him in before going to prepare for it.

-

Your office job was work.

Your apartment was home.

Your cleaning job was work.

Returning home, you felt oddly buoyant as the door unlocked for you. Thanking S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. in your mind for always being on standby, you found Donnie waiting in a lean against the sofa. At the sight of you, he straightened up and you couldn’t help but go over to him. He caught you as you got close and pulled you flush to him with a squeeze. “You're done.”

You nodded.

“Please say it.” His voice muffled into your hair.

“I’m done.” With some resistance, you got away enough to look up at him.

He kissed you and you had to break it with a pressure to his chest. “I know your party is in a few days, but I need to give you your present now.”

He had to maintain some contact and settled for your elbows. “You have it?”

“I told you it wasn’t about the money.” You gave a tired smile and semi-patient stare as you needed to step away.

He pouted momentarily before letting you go.

Stepping over to your bag, you slipped out the little box you had purchased to go with it. “Did you ever figure out where I was going?”

“No.” There was a deep disdain to his tone.

You gave a puff of laughter as you returned to him.

As excited as a puppy, he latched back onto you before he even noticed the gift.

“It was an office building.”

He gave a slow nod, readying himself for information.

“Cleaning, but I told you that much.”

“I hate the way the solution clings to your hands.”

“I wore gloves…” You looked up at him with surprise.

He shrugged as it was simply a fact.

You shook it away. “Weird, whatever, but the building doesn’t matter as much as its tenants do. One of a bunch of skyscrapers, certain floors had an insane amount of security.”

He leaned in a little, studying you.

“Funny though.” You offered a half-cocked grin. “They do so little research on who cleans up. Like they don’t care. Like they aren’t as smart. Like they aren’t a threat. Beneath them.”

You could tell Donnie was frustrated since he wasn’t foreseeing the point.

“The background check was a joke, especially with the papers Shelly forged.”

Donnie gave your arms an astonished squeeze.

You cradled the box and lifted it a little as an offering. “Takes only 30 days to get access to all floors which is hilarious because I don’t think I’d earn caddy rights until like 90.”

Sensing you wanted him to, he again forced himself to let go of you again, this time in exchange for the present.

You placed your hand over top of the lid. “You said they flag everyone who enters their system.”

His entire body jolted.

“Which is true, but they only give a shit about some of them.” You looked right into his eyes. “Not the ones who come everyday. Not those-”

“-Beneath them…” He was short of gasping.

You took the top off revealing a small keycard. “They don’t even have facial recognition. You could literally use anyone’s card. It’ll get you right up to the special vault. Obviously we don’t clean in there, but it looks like it’s literally a keypad at that point. Shelly scanned and said it isn’t even hooked up to the internet. That means as long as someone entered when they expected, at night, you can get in.”

“You got me-!”

“Uranium.” You finished his sentence.

You hit the floor before you could even register his movement. The entire fall cushioned, his mouth was upon you and you were drowning in a veritable sea of kisses.

“Ack! Donnie!”

“You!” He caught hold of your head and his smile threatened to crack his face wide open.

“Do you like it?” You teased.

“You, I-” He choked, his lip quivering around an unsaid word. “I-you. I-”

“It’s okay.” You found your hands and cradled his face with a sweep over his bottom lip. “You don’t have to say it. I hear you.”

“For my birthday!?” 

“Yes.” 

“You staked out a location!” 

“Yes?” You giggled. 

“Accomplice to breaking and entering!” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You squeezed his cheeks. 

“Plausible deniability.” He glanced away and returned with an expression that oozed pride. “Downright villainous.” 

“I learned from the best…” You swept a thumb over his smile lines. 

“That was not worth what you did in the slightest! However-!” He forced through his closing throat, a few tears breaking free.

“I don’t know. Look at you.”

He tried to kiss your grin away.

There was no way he could.

Breaking only for air, he continued to pepper you as you tried to explain the rest of the necessary information. “So, you can go in whenever you want though I’m quitting without notice. The me that went in doesn’t even exist so who cares. You’ll want to go before they shut the card off though, so not long. I also have the routes of how the cleaners disperse each night along and all the building’s cameras and sensors.”

“How?” He couldn’t pull his mouth from you, but you could feel how enamored he was.

“Shelly pulled all the starting weight; I took over from there, but the idea of it all was a hunch of mine that happened to pan out.”

“Magnificent.” He finally broke free to look at you. “Incredible.” He brushed back your hair and took you in. “There aren’t enough words to describe how I feel for you.”

You looked away and then back. “There’s a few but…”

You saw him stiffen and his lips part.

You covered his mouth with your whole hand. “You know I want that, but that was a joke! When you’re ready, Donnie. Geez!”

He kissed your hand once, twice, and then gave it a nudge.

You removed it. “Yes?”

“Take a sick day.”

“Haven’t I had enough of those?” You stared at him with dried incredulity.

“They’ve been worried?”

You sighed, pretending to be put off. “Yes.”

“Take it.”

“But…” It was tempting. 

“You need to recuperate.” He wasn’t wrong.

“... Fine.” You gave in and came up to kiss him.

He pulled you a little closer and deepened it for one long massage before pulling away just enough to speak in scorched puffs. “To get you the rest you need I fully intend to eat you out until you come apart at the very seams and fall in the most satisfied rest of your life.” 

You squeaked. 

“In which case I might, might consider myself forgiven for my transgressions.”

A shudder ran through you and you tried to kiss him, but he just barely resisted.

“When you wake, if I’ve done my job to an adequate standard, then maybe, maybe, again twice the emphasis, I will allow myself coitus proper.”

“Allow yourself?” You could already feel yourself devolving into a needy mess. “What about me?” 

Nudging your cheek, his lips graced your skin. “Hence the timing. Rest assured your satisfaction is guaranteed by one of my defining characteristics.” 

You reviewed him through lashes. 

“My sharp tongue.” With another press, he caught your lips and demonstrated with a lick that winded said heat around yours. 

In a few flicks, his moistened point soaked somewhere else. 

“Monster.” You breathed as he broke the lock.  More than agreeable, he gave an indicative growl before scooping you up to run you over to the bed. You squealed at his speed and heard a few happy chirps pop from him in the journey until you crashed into the sheets and he finally answered, “Without question!”

NEXT

I would be nothing without my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[secretgamergirl]

I am so sick of poverty.

I am doubled over right now in my broken chair layering my clothes up because it's 20 degrees out and I can't afford heat. I haven't eaten anything tonight because I can't afford food. Things could be worse. I still have electricity. I still have a roof over my head, for now, in a bad neighborhood where I'm too terrified to ever set foot outside and I'm constantly having to deal with screaming, car alarms, and sirens. I have no real way of paying my rent, and haven't in some time. I just keep begging and getting one-off help from people and eventually that luck is going to run out. I genuinely did not expect to still be alive this month, I don't know if I'm going to be a month from now, and I genuinely cannot picture anything that can change my situation.

I'm just sitting here right now thinking to myself, "why is my life like this?" and I really hate how the answer really just is that I'm trans.

If you don't know what that means, and statistically you don't, that means I was born with a really quite boring fluke medical thing where my endocrine system makes certain chemicals in the wrong ratio which, if untreated, completely messes me up with really gross and disgusting physical symptoms and causing all sorts of awful brain issues that make it basically impossible to live... BUT, there's really cheap readily available supplements to get those where they should be and then you're fine. So in a halfway reasonable world, this would just be like how some people need glasses or a hearing aid or any other sort of medication people might need to take for something.

But, we don't. We live in this super messed up world where because being trans is such a rare and uninteresting thing, a tiny handful of weirdos, for reasons beyond my comprehension, have this all-consuming obsession with doing everything in their power to harm trans people, and have spent literally their entire lifetimes spreading utterly bonkers propaganda, lobbying lawmakers, getting onto medical boards, and just acting as traditional good old fashioned stalkers, with the net result being this swirling miasma of false information, stigmatization, mistrust, and of course, depriving people of necessary medical treatment.

One of the nastier specific effects there is that you can't just get the aforementioned medications you need to live a normal boring life as a trans person. There is this whole wild and wacky hazing ritual built into international medical standards where you're literally required to humiliate yourself in public for a good year and make damn sure everyone around you knows you're trans, and can properly make your life hell for it.

So back to my little story here. I'm trans, I decided I would in fact like to have some sort of bearable life with a functioning brain and a minimum of weird gross physical problems, and had to announce this to the world. IMMEDIATELY, I have stalkers out the wazoo. I'm getting death threats. Family isn't speaking to me. Friends aren't speaking to me. People I've worked with/for my whole life cut all ties with me. I just had to sort of start life over from nothing well into adulthood.

And you know, I managed that. I've worked as a journalist and a game designer my whole life, those skills aren't the worst for working on your own, things were starting to get off the ground. This despite/because the whole thing with neo-nazis coming out of the woodwork and attacking trans people both with life-ruining tactics and, you know, guns. But, you know, as fate would have it, some people who don't do proper research put too much stock in some cover stories suggesting that they're actually targeting journalists, and when it shakes out to the contrary, decide to absolutely crush the trans people whose lives are actually in danger and are reporting on this... while at the same time the worst TERF in America is literally getting trans journalists blacklisted, stalking people, teaming up with neo-nazis, all that good stuff.

Anyway, as it happens, basically all the people I've met in rebuilding my life care enough about staying on the good sides of some of the above people, and are all too happy to completely throw me under the bus, not only cutting all ties with me but also starting some horrible rumors and leaking my closely guarded personal details to some particularly frightening people, forcing me to flee my home with just what I can carry out in a day... multiple times. And of course, again, I've lost more or less all of my friends, my ability to find work, and I have the setbacks of sudden homelessness and someone skipping out on a joint charity project with all the donations people had made, burning down all the vital operating resources to boot.

And this of course is all before the whole bit where the site formally known as Twitter spontaneously kicked me off with no chance to exchange alternate contact info with anyone, because wouldn't you know it, the new owner has an irrational hatred of trans people and has neo-nazi stalkers of mine kissing up to him in a way he's weirdly protective of.

But wait, there's more! All these fascist stalkers monitor me at all times to make sure I can't get any work of any kind, and I'm forced to live purely off direct patreon donations and government programs. But that gets into some other fun problems. Stalking comes with identity theft, evading would-be murderers involves changes of legal name and address. These confuse a lot of government databases, so I lack a valid social security card in there somewhere. Also causes problems with paypal. And with medcab programs. And then there's good old fashioned medical discrimination. I haven't seen a dentist in years because the last couple I've been referred to outright discriminate against trans patients. I need some surgery performed, and my health plan keeps telling me I can only see surgeons who have almost no experience if I'm lucky, and a history of horribly botched procedures otherwise.

Oh, and the reason I have no food? I WAS on an assistance program, but in the yearly audit, someone noticed that my rent significantly exceeds my income. You would hope seeing that they'd realize I'm REALLY in trouble and if anything give me more money, but hey, one of those weird bits of propaganda about trans people is that we're all sex workers, so the people handling this case leaned into that bias and are insisting I must be withholding income information with some vague insinuations on what they're speculating, and denying me access to food, BECAUSE I'm losing access to shelter.

So yeah, if people could just be normal about trans people, I'd have no stalkers, still be able to work, see doctors when I need to, and if I had shortfalls still, at least be able to eat. As is... yeah I might just die in the next big cold snap while I try to beg money off people to cover my rent and buy a few cans of soup.

Sorry to be a downer. Patreon link if you want to try to help.

[crissiebaby]

Double Diaper Dare: Chapter 14

DISCLAIMER: This story contains diaper usage, public humiliation, masturbation/diaper sex, WAM, hypermessing, hypnosis, diaper filling, slime transformation, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

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Clicking on his flashlight, Mike cocked his head sideways, entranced by what appeared to be an oatmeal outline of a butt. “So…what? Someone got wet and wild with the oatmeal machine?” he said, peering around the corner at his fellow security guard, Devin, who was in the process of checking each and every stall thoroughly.

“Looks that way. I told you we needed to double security for the testing department,” said Devin as he kicked open the last unchecked stall, disappointed and confused to find no one inside, “It doesn’t make sense. There’s no one hiding in the lockers or the stalls, and there’s no other way out of this bathroom.” Pressing his fingers to his temple, he sighed, not looking forward to reporting to his superior empty-handed. At least if they found the vandal, they could avoid getting chewed out for a security breach.

Shaking his head, Mike waved Devin back to the entrance, offering him a sympathetic smile. “Well, consider your point proven. Maybe now, they’ll listen when we say we’re stretched way too thin,” he said, patting his colleague on the back, “Tell ya what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna stand guard outside of this changing room and keep a close eye on the testing chamber while I radio to maintenance for a clean-up crew, sound good?”

Nodding in response, Devin shook off his dejection and followed Mike into the main testing chamber. “Wanna get some beers later tonight? It’s Thirsty Thursday at Mickey’s and I could use a-WOAH!” he said, cutting himself off mid-sentence as one of his feet slipped out from under him, nearly causing him to fall over. He planted his feet and stuck his arms out wide, quickly regaining his balance. Looking down at the floor, he expected to see a clump of oatmeal with a shoe print skidding through it. However, what he found instead was some kind of sticky, purple goo, “...the hell?”

“What’s up?” said Mike, attentively approaching Devin only to stop dead in his tracks as though his feet had been glued to the floor, “Dev, is this a prank or something?!” He twisted his upper body around frantically, attempting to dislodge his feet to no avail.

Shaking his head no, a panicking Devin soon found that both of his shoes were stuck to the floor as well. In his struggle to free himself, he lost his balance once and for all and tumbled backward onto his butt, landing atop the sticky surface. “What is this stuff?!” he shouted, trying and failing to remove his hand from the ground.

Suddenly, the gooey ground began to shift around them as a purple blanket of slime began to converge at a central point, rising from the ground in the process. Unfortunately for Devin and Mike, the shifting slime carried their bodies with it, sucking them in closer to the epicenter. “W-What the fuck are they working on in here?!” screamed Mike, lunging with all of his weight in hopes of unsticking his feet, only to flop down onto his belly, trapping him like a bug on a piece of fly paper.

With both Devin and Mike unable to escape, they could only watch with growing horror as the goo continued to pile onto itself until its central form was several feet taller than the two burly men. “How dare you enter MY domain?!” said a booming feminine voice, a pair of slimy eyes forming on its face.

The security guards could only shriek in terror and plead for forgiveness as they fruitlessly scrambled to dislodge themselves from the angry-sounding slime creature. “I-I’m sorry! W-We’ll leave immediately,” cried Devin, who was shaking like a frightened chihuahua. His fear became so great that he accidentally let out some pee into his black slacks, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the mysterious, sentient goo monster.

“Hahaha! Looks like someone forgot to diaper up this morning,” said the female voice, cackling maniacally at the pitiful guard. As her eyes wandered over to the two-person diaper that Crissie had presented her with earlier, a devious plot formed in her mind, “Don’t worry, I can help you both change into something far more appropriate.” Extending several slimy tendrils out from her body, the slime creature effortlessly lifted the pair of men off of the ground. She snickered at their meek attempt to wiggle out of the many tentacles she used to bind them, getting quite the kick out of how easy it was to keep them hovering in the air even as they kicked and writhed to free themselves.

“P-Please! I’m just a security dispatcher! Let me go and take Devin! He’s the one who was harassing you!” pleaded Mike, showing that he was more than willing to throw his buddy under the bus for his own sake.

Dropping his jaw in shock, Devin’s frightened state immediately swapped to animosity toward his co-worker. “Fuck you, Mike! Take him! He just sits in his office most of the day anyway! No one will even notice!” he said, hoping for any sort of mercy from the slime monster. Sadly, the only response he got was having a tentacle shoved between his lips, silencing him and filling his mouth and throat with flavorless goo. Straining his peripheral vision, he saw that Mike had fallen victim to the same fate.

“There, much more peaceful without you two squabbling,” said the slime, orchestrating her tentacles to position the two guards back to back. She then picked up the diaper with four leg holes and slowly shimmied it up the two men’s legs, quite a feat considering how strongly they were jerking their lower halves back and forth to stop her. Their efforts were tragically in vain as in no time at all, she managed to slot them into the two-person diaper, taping it on them snugly before using the built-in waistband lock to secure their conjoined undergarment.

Depositing the two men back on the ground, the slime let go of their bodies to allow them the opportunity to explore their new padding for the foreseeable future. It may have been a little cruel but it was an absolute delight to watch them fail to do something as simple as stand up without crumbling back down onto their tushies. As a finishing touch, she grabbed two pieces of Bubbly Baby bubblegum and forced them into the mouths of her two captives. They tried to spit out the sugary confection but Codi’s tentacles were relentless, keeping the gum firmly held between their teeth. After a few chomps from both Devin and Mike, she released them, watching with unabashed glee as their expressions faded from anxious to docile to giggly in a matter of seconds. “Now, you two sit here and think about what you’ve done,” she said, booping them each on the nose before rushing back toward the changing room.

Flattening herself to the floor, the slime dove under the changing room’s door and rose up on the other side, gradually returning to her humanoid form as Codi. “Told ya I could do it!” she said proudly, having completed Crissie’s latest dare.

“Yay! I had a feeling you’d have fun with that,” said Crissie, running up to Codi and throwing her arms around her, paying little mind to the parts of her that were still unformed goo, “Let’s hurry and find that key! We don’t want to deal with anyone else showing up before we-MMMMF!”

All of sudden, Crissie had her mouth filled by a long, gooey tentacle. Her eyes went wide as she felt herself growing instantly moist behind her cursed chastity belt. With her resistance flatlining, she opened her lips more and flattened her tongue to allow Codi’s slime to travel down her throat, which eagerly pressed into her tummy and rubbed up against her womb. Surprisingly, she still found she was able to breathe through her nose, letting her know that Codi was skilled enough to pull this off without suffocating her. Meanwhile, a second tentacle slithered over the waistband of her diaper, through the slots of her chastity, and into her moist slit, filling her from top to bottom. Her limbs went weak as she moaned hard, allowing for her entire body weight to be supported by Codi.

“Ah, ah, ah! It’s my turn to give the dare and I won’t have you rushing me,” said Codi, taking her fully formed hand and brushing it against Crissie’s cheek, “I Double Diaper Dare you to avoid cumming until I get us back to the nursery. If you can do that, I’ll concede and let you win.” While to an outsider, her offer may have appeared fair, both she and Crissie knew that Crissie was never going to be able to hang on for that long.

Codi had barely stepped foot outside of the changing area before Crissie felt the first orgasm overtake her. Her body quivered in Codi’s arms, refusing to let her mask how horny she had become. Part of her expected Codi to say something snarky as her climax happened but instead, Codi didn’t say a single word, deciding to comfort her with a series of soft headpats.

Watching as Codi scanned through the scattered oatmeal to find the teleport key, Crissie leaned into the crux of Codi’s arm and closed her eyes. She didn’t need to see her find the key and bring them home. She fully trusted that Codi would take care of her and keep her safe. “Ah uv oos,” she mumbled through her mouthful of slime.

“I love you too, Crissie,” said Codi, leaning down and planting a kiss on Crissie’s forehead.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Edited by AllySmolShork

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[eponymous-rose]

I found it super useful to do this in a previous year, so here's all the stuff I've got going on for the next three-month quarter. Hope this is interesting to anyone thinking of going the academic route or just curious about what their professor does all day when they're not teaching!

Context: I'm a fifth-year assistant professor (tenure-track) at an R1 public university in a science field.

I'm just teaching the one class this quarter! It's a class I created myself and have taught on four previous occasions, so I have a lot of really great materials available to me. Its enrollment has also quadrupled since the first time I taught it. Womp-womp. Designing and giving lectures 3x/week, creating new assignments 1x/week (carefully ChatGPT-proofed when they're not integrating critical assessments of ChatGPT), writing two take-home midterms, grading all of the above, and, of course, innovating on the course. Trying out some fun new activities to replace the individual projects that have become unwieldy with this number of students. And, inevitably, the scheduled and unscheduled office hours.

I'm primary advisor for a great new grad student, but, in all the federal government's deadline-y wisdom, the grant proposal I was going to use to fund his research fell through. While we scramble to re-submit, the department has given me 9 months of funding, but that also means this student is going up for some highly competitive graduate fellowships to help fill the financial void. Lots of working with him to craft his very first proposal while we talk the undergrad to grad transition, classes, and These Winters Oh You Know (he's from the PNW, he's all set). His actual research is a little on hold for now, but we'll be doing some very cool stuff collaborating with a friend at another university as well as someone at a federal agency that I'm gonna sweet-talk into inviting us down for some in-person work in May. We meet for an hour every week.

As part of that, I'm meeting weekly with my co-PI on that failed proposal to craft a resubmission (we got very positive reviews, just didn't make the funding cutoff). It's a process!

My other active grad student is getting to the end of his PhD already! He just wrapped up two internships this summer and is full of ideas and new directions, which is great, but also: now is the time to find that finish line. He has his last pre-defense exam coming up soon, and my job is to make sure he has a solid story to tell that has a well-defined ending. I'd like to see him publish another paper before finishing as well, and I think he'll have no problems doing so. He's on a federal research grant and also needs to discharge some responsibilities there and make sure he has a transition plan in place for whoever takes over from him. Had a friend at another institution reach out expressing an interest in hiring him for a postdoc, and he's interested, so also going to try to get him a visit down there. We meet for an hour every week!

Said student has also initiated a collaboration with some of his friends from school back in China to do some truly wild stuff, and honestly in this case I'm just along for the ride and to gently steer them back on-course when they start getting a bit in the weeds. We're meeting every second week, and the biggest thing I have to do here is make sure he has open access to a supercomputer to do his thing. It's cool to have reached the stage where my main responsibility is to get out of his way.

Said student also independently reached out to someone with a really cool dataset, and after a meeting carefully smoothing over that e-mail from "blasé demand for free data" to "opportunity to collaborate as a team", we've got a pretty cool project lining up. Might have to wait until after his PhD defense, though.

I have another grad student who took a job elsewhere and really, really wanted to finish his Master's remotely, which is all well and good, but honestly, doing that while trying to start a new job is soul-crushingly difficult. Our department has recently created an option to get a Master's without writing a thesis, so I need to follow up on that and get him this Master's degree.

A former student has reached out about converting his Master's thesis to a journal article, and that'll be a long process, but sure? Maybe? We'll figure it out.

A colleague and I have decided to create a research project for an undergrad who reached out to us looking for opportunities to get more credits. We're still not 100% sure where we're going with this, and a lot will depend on her programming skills, but she's only a sophomore and so we'll ideally have several years to work together on this research. We meet once a week.

Said colleague and I are also working on blending our research groups a bit (mainly because it's awkward to have 3-person "group meetings"), and as part of that we're trying to find a time to have both groups do biweekly coffee-shop meetings where we discuss a cool paper in the field.

I'm participating in a weather forecasting competition that involves writing a forecast 4 days a week, occasionally sending out reminder e-mails, meeting weekly, and probably giving a briefing at some point.

Traveling in October to give an invited seminar at a very big-name university in my field. This has been happening more and more lately (I've now given invited seminars/keynotes in four different countries, to say nothing of the conference talks elsewhere) and I have a pretty solid template for a one-hour talk, but this is a group of people who specialize in my area of research, so I've gotta step up my game there. I'll also be meeting with folks there for a day and will have to figure out what to do with my course while I'm gone.

One other bit of out-of-state travel in October is to attend a meeting of a national group I'm a part of - they've thrown in an early-career workshop, and the whole thing is being paid for, so I'll be there for one extra day learning me a thing. Excited that my grad school officemate will be there!

Final travel this quarter will be during the final exam week, when I go to a giant conference in my field along with my nearly-finished PhD student - we'll both be giving talks there, and since it isn't my usual professional organization hosting it, I get to avoid all of my usual wave of volunteer responsibilities. Phew.

This isn't happening until January, but I was invited to speak at the biggest student conference in my field, and while I can't travel there, they've set up an opportunity for me to do it virtually - I need to get my materials to them by November, I think.

I'm still on the editorial board for three different academic journals, which comes with a fair number of reviews (often "tiebreakers" when the other peer reviewers are in disagreement) every month. Genuinely really enjoy it, because otherwise when the heck am I gonna find time to deep-read any new papers in my field? Also writing reviews for federal funding agency grants now, which is a longer process but also very interesting and helpful.

I'm coordinating the charitable fundraising among the faculty in my department this year - I have a meeting coming up with the head honcho at the university level about what charity drives we'll be doing in the run-up to the holiday season and then I think I just mostly forward e-mails? This is a new position for me.

I'm one of four faculty (plus a grad student) on a new hire search committee for a tenure-track faculty member. It's been interesting thus far, but due to some financial tapdancing going on at the moment, we may delay the hire by a year. Our department typically gets 100+ highly qualified applications for each position (which is wild, we're not huge and have like 21 faculty total), so that's a huge time sink once the ball gets rolling on it. We did put together the ad we were going to send out.

I extended my term on the college's scholarship committee, which generally involves a couple meetings a year of giving out extra money to students. Good stuff, especially since we received a gift at the college level recently that means nearly everyone who applies gets something.

I'm working on a research project I got funded through a small internal grant - it's been weird to have a research project that's just me doing coding and writing. I really need to block out some protected time for that! It's a fun project and I think I budgeted for two publications. We'll see how it turns out!

A while ago, I was approached by a truly giant scientific journal to write a review article about my entire research focus. I brought on three colleagues who had written similar reviews in the past, got our proposal approved, and promptly had multiple freakouts trying to get a full draft written. Recently got most of that draft completed and sent it to the editor, who had AMAZING and detailed feedback. This is the kind of article where we have an art team at our beck and call to create graphics for us. We really want to do this right.

I got pulled into a research thing with a national lab a while ago and keep forgetting about it - my role appears to be mostly done, and now I mostly just occasionally get random e-mails with dire security clearance warnings that amount to "I wrote this whitepaper report, can you confirm I properly represented your contribution?" It would be lovely if a publication came out of this, it's fun work (not military), but who knows.

A colleague and I are waiting to hear back on a really, really cool grant proposal we submitted a couple months ago. We probably still have 6 months before we hear anything, but man, I think about it every day. It would be so neat and the program manager agreed that it was an awesome idea, but of course now we're in the reviewers' hands. We might do some preliminary work in anticipation of possibly having to resubmit next year.

Speaking of grant proposals, I need to at least put a draft together for a new project. As my grad students graduate, I need funding to bring new ones on! This is also the one thing my department chair has suggested is a little weak on my CV: number of grants obtained. It's SUCH a long process, with probably 80-100 hours of work for each grant proposal written. Ugh. It is fun when it's an idea I'm excited about, at least.

I'm on the committees of about a half-dozen grad students (and am anticipating possibly hearing from one more) - my role is mostly to provide very occasional guidance on the overall research project, providing specialized knowledge the student and their primary advisor may not have, and attending all exams. I also have to keep an eye out for and help mediate any issues between the student and their advisor. That can get messy.

We have 3 weekly seminars in the department! They're very interesting and I'm mostly just glad I'm not coordinating one of the seminar series this year.

I've started getting inquiries from potential graduate students. See above re: not knowing if I'll have funding for a new student next year. Why can't we just coordinate our deadlines?

I've started working with a science advisory board for a major organization within my field, which has been interesting so far! As a more junior member, my input isn't being super actively sought yet, so I get to just learn about the processes involved and nod sagely a lot. Thankfully the two-day meeting last week was remote.

I'm on another national committee that's currently working on organizing our next big conference in late 2024. There's always a lot that goes into that (and I don't have a super high opinion of the guy running the group after he posted some crappy stuff about students on social media), but thankfully I've managed to dodge some of the bigger responsibilities.

I'm part of a very cool peer-mentoring group where I chat weekly with scientists in different-but-comparable fields about any and all of the above. It's very nice to have a bit of a place to vent!

Oh yes, and the tenure/promotion-application process kicks off this year. I have a meeting next week with my mentoring committee to see if they feel I'm ready to go up. Here goes nothing...

I think that's mostly it? It's gonna be a busy 3 months. Time to make some lists...

[joyswonderland1108]

Damn Daniel, back at it with the cult.

They're clearly going through it again but let's see what it's all about.

I'm taking the chance to share the tweet so you can report too.

So user kookieantae4eva (bfr what are you? 12?) wants to talk about consent, that apparently sharing the picture Jimin posted is a no no out of "principle" funny how a cultist is talking about principles the damn irony.

First of all, who THE FUCK are you to be talking about consent or no consent about a picture they're both in, whether you see them as brothers, best friends, band mates, a couple (that is clearly not you or maybe you do that's why you're throwing up on Twitter about it), etc.. You're still a stranger to them so who tf do you think you are to be talking about consent for a picture they both took?

As if we didn't learn anything from chapter two, Maknae line be wilding with nakedness Lord have mercy! But you see my friend pointed at something that i completely forgot for a second but hey let's mention it since you oh so want to be holier than thou.

Remember when Eric Choi who is the BROTHER of Tae's FRIEND posted a picture of the back of their heads on his IG? Where were your principles then? Why weren't you questioning consent back then? Is it because you were starving for anything TK related that consent didn't matter then?

I'm sorry but between a BTS member posting a picture with another BTS member and a friend's brother posting a picture of the back of their heads i'd be questioning the latter.

Moving on to Jay AKA Mina.

Now weren't they preaching about JK's silence? "Supporting his boyfriend privately 🥺" or whatever theory they pulled out of their asses why would you Mina suddenly want public support after the whole album drops (that's what you're alluding to) and then contradict yourself later calling it forced support. Lemme guess when Tae posted about Seven on his story that was "forced support" as well? Or is it only when it comes to Jimin?

Each member have their own excuses for posting or not, that is completely their own choice whether they want to dedicate a post for this and that or go with private support only, no one is pointing a gun at anyone asking them to post anything. And again i keep on wondering why the cult like to jinx their own happiness? Like why are they making it sound like there's no hope for JK to show support for Tae, who tf told you? Do you foresee the future or?

I know that someone shared an ss about how Jimin is "using" JK's birthday but damn for someone who sat there watching Jimin's live through tears you sure enough didn't bother look up the translations.

JK did do a mini live when he could, he posted on WV a long heart-warming message but we came to know through Jimin that he is VERY busy and at that moment those of us who have functioning brains guessed that JK might not be able to come live because maybe he was still at the studio, those boys sometimes stay till ungodly hours of the night working hard.

During his live Jimin still reminded us TWICE to wish Jungkook a happy birthday and called it a "Happy day" too, and i know i joked about how Jimin did a live as a legal representative for JK bla bla bla but in reality if any of those friendless cult knew how relationships with people work they'd be 10x smarter.

Again, however you see Jimin and JK, and let's just go for best friends since calling them boyfriends gets your panties in a twist, it's totally a normal thing to want to take over for a friend if they can't be available for an event. Of course if you ever had a friend you'd understand how your friend can show up in your stead since you have your own excuse not to be present. Is it what Jimin did? We don't know, could be, he is after all a very close "friend" to JK.

So saying that he used JK's birthday.. as if him coming live any other day would've changed the outcome? I don't know what exactly are these people unhappy about? Like did you just wake up and chose to embarrass yourself or? Nothing extravagant even happened so what exactly is the problem here? I just want to understand what triggered a whole ass cult? Y'all are very good at making delusional theories maybe you could've used that to soothe yourself.

(Tagging this under Jikook cause i still need you to report the first mfr)